#??? i actually don’t know cleo’s last name i fear

[myrandom-fandomlife]

can we take a moment to appreciate how good all the women look this season the guys really WON huh

[via-the-ghoul]

Anyways here’s some concepts for how some currently not in Gen3 characters could fit into the universe part 2

Wydowna Spider

Ok, so first of all, Weberella, her super hero alter ego, is just straight up real now. She actually is a super-hero, protecting monsters from the forces of evil. However, no one knows her secret identity as high school girl Wydowna Spider. It’s tough, but with her multiple arms she can juggle both lives… until this new supervillain threatening Monster High might be too big for her to handle. So Clawdeen, Ghoulia, Spectra, and Frankie, who have figured all of this out somehow, decide to become superheroes to help her!

Isi Dawndancer

A popular eektok dancer who also does little explanation videos on her Potawatomi culture (which also informs her dances). Cleo adores her videos, but just can’t understand why Isi does all of this anonymously (oh yeah she usually wears a mask so people don’t know her identity). So after Isi transfers to Monster High and Cleo somehow finds out she’s the eekdok dancer Cleo… reveals her identity. After this, Isi starts getting a bunch of attention she doesn’t want, from the paparazzi, to racist people. Isi understandably, once having a moment of peace, confronts Cleo and reveals that she genuinely doesn’t want to be in the spotlight. Cleo apologizes, deletes the video, and casts a curse to remove Isi’s identity from everyone but herself and Isi.

Jackson and Holt

They shift based on if it’s night or day again, and due to school like being nocturnal, Holt is the main one now. Jackson is a teen inventor who made a teleporter so he could go to human school while Holt was at Monster High, and both of them use fake last names for obvious reasons. IDK what Jackson’s is but Holt’s is literally just “Hide” and it works. I don’t have any specific episode ideas other than Clawdeen having to try and hide Jackson’s existence from Bloodgood after some weird specific mishap with an invention or something.

Elissabat

A new up and coming boovie-star that Dracula and Draculaura enjoy. So when she transfers to the school, Draculaura immediately wants to befriend her. The issue is that Elissabat and Lala’s personalities just… don’t click. They just don’t get along well. Draculaura is freaked out by this, worried that Elissabat will put a bad name for her out there in the world, and she won’t be able to chase her dreams. This causes distress, and Elissabat reveals that while they may not get along, Drac shouldn’t jump to conclusions on what Elissabat will do to her image… after Frankie and Clawdeen reveal all this to her out of fear for Drac. Elissabat doesn’t really interact with others all that much, so she couldn’t really tell what was going on. Maybe a later episode could be about her terrible social skills?

[bellshazes]

do it again director's commentary part 3

one evening as the golden hour light begins to creep across his desk it catches the courage crystal sitting there and refracts shattered patterns that waver back and forth along the walls. When Etho stumbles in, gripping a coffee mug with both hands and squinting at the last dregs of daylight, it catches him too and he’s lit up in flames. Bdubs’ heart seizes up as Etho tilts his head down to try and keep the light from his eyes, the deepened burning shadow transforming his face into something menacing and sharp.

this one was for the girlies who appreciate etho always dying in fire <3 and also as close to textually suggesting the courage crystal is a significant source of bdubs' paranoia, bc it does its opposite.

Etho sits up gingerly and tries to wiggle his feet out from underneath Bdubs. “Oh boy, you’re loud. What time is it?” He blearily squints at the clock on Bdubs’ nightstand; he’s not wearing his glasses, or they fell off in the falling over. “What are you doing in my room?”

i really like this part bc the image amuses me so much but also: i was thinking specifically of doumeki shizuka for this. and bdubs plays watanuki. it's just the holic influence, you know how it is with 104.

That acute awareness of absence carries him to a red seance, and when he hears Joel and Grian calling his name he doesn’t even mind the racket they’re causing and scribbles clues into the redstone dust they’ve scattered on the ground. Betrayal doesn’t come to mind at all as he tells them where the others had gone to hide.

nobody talks about the fact that bdubs answering the seance DIRECTLY led to them getting a kill on i think perhaps even cleo??? definitely someone bdubs had cared about. like he really does that. does anybody remember this it makes me sooooo crazy. the post-death influence bdubs had on the actual events of the world is important to the themes of dia, but it's also that i wanted to emphasize that etho never tried to talk to or acknowledge bdubs-as-ghost, even though it was something he could have done. I dont feel strongly about whether, in DIA-verse, he would have known he could do. but it's made relevant in the final chapter when etho says he said something when he was a ghost in case bdubs was still listening.

He’s never been good when left alone, with no one to orbit around and make sense of his place in the world. That’s the problem with putting your heart into one person’s hands: when they’re gone, you’re left heartless. A clock, a life, a question - whatever the promise, he’ll always take it if it means an end to loneliness.

i'm really maybe most proud of this part in the whole fic. i like the prose and i think it explains exactly what i want it to about bdubs being a loyal guy with loose morals and a desperate need for connection. it's not even that directly prevalent in LL but i think his bizarre version of commitment to specific persons is what drives the other recklessness.

It’s the only thing that makes sense; in the dreams that increasingly invade his waking hours as distant overlays, a disorienting kind of deja vu, Etho is overjoyed to torment him with the possibility of his imminent demise at Etho’s hands and sends him on a suicide mission that ends with Bdubs shouting Etho’s name as he dies. 

in the beginning couple chapters i deliberately left bdubs' memory of being killed ambigous so that it was reasonable he might think he was yelling at etho, who directly killed him. now, he remembers more, and his fear develops into less the physical harm and more the emotional betrayal of being thrown away, like he expresses to cleo earlier. but the loop of fearful suspicion kind of shifts without his conscious awareness; he only suspected initially because of the physical threat, and now he's less sure of that, but has invented new reasons to be afraid.

“Little guy!” Bdubs shouts, and then scowls when Jellie disdainfully hops away from them. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do, get me distracted so I don’t get my refund. You can’t fool old Bdubs that easy, I tell you what. No - seriously, I mean it. Scar, look at me.”

writing for bdubs' voice is never easier than when he's talking to scar. all his usefully recognizable patterns come up so strongly, so easily. maybe partially because it's easiest for me to hear him cutting himself off to say the same thing in a different way for emphasis, or change the direction of the sentence entirely halfway in when scar is being sneaky and throwing curveballs at him.

“Well,” says Scar, gleeful in a way he instantly pretends to regret, clapping one hand over his heart. “If you can tell me about your dreams I’ll tell you about mine. Grian always gives me such a hard time for caring about dreaming that I used to be a wizard who made the world better with my magic because he doesn’t believe in it in the real world, but you and I know better. “

scar mainly dreams of s7 because of the continuity of his character selling crystals. it's also because he gave and received the most lives, which is the other criteria i used to measure how much a given character might remember with a crystal or after an inciting incident (like falling off the roof, bdubs' questioning of cleo).

“At this point I think Etho’s problem with you is more about not being able to one-up you when you’re going on about whatever thing he’s logically opposed to, way more than whatever it was you did to piss him off way back when.” 

etho doesn't like magic and thinks scar's a terrible influence on bdubs - which is absolutely 1000% true. he does like the mutual manipulation, but only in the light back-and-forth, and it's not really an old grudge or anything.

He had less of a choice than he realized in that moment, but he knows he would have signed anyway, not yet understanding what else Etho would ask him to give up for Etho’s own self-preservation. 

you ever think about how etho asked bdubs to give up something of himself without question twice and twice bdubs barely hesitated before doing it and once it was already over was when he fully grasped the consequences? me neither.

Bdubs thinks about how close he’d come to working for Scar, before he had built up his client list and had regular business after college. How appalled Etho had been, enough to point out that even on their meager incomes they could easily afford a two bedroom apartment on the same block as Skizz and Tango if they moved in together. So he’d taken graveyard shifts where he could find them and told Scar no instead, which was harder than he expected, even before Scar started wheedling. It had felt strangely like giving up something familiar, even though he’d known Etho for longer.

before 90s au there was a DIA offshoot that was set on one side or the other of s7 instead of s8 and paralleled the mayoral arc because bdubs never moves in with etho because he accepts the offer to work for scar instead of needing to split rent and etho is vaguely horrified and not as close but as much of nuisance a la the resistance double-siding stuff. a lot of that got rolled into 90s au though, which i think improves on it by having etho run a shade-e-ees esque side business out of what's basically a DIY container home situation everyone calls the monstrosity. (impulse crashes there frequently too, on account of it also being foreshadowing for the wool castle of 3L).

"That man has a hold on me I guess," bdubs says in LL about scar when questioned why he keeps falling for the BS. you know how it is with mayors

It’s the same shade of red as the dust he’d scrawled his ghostly message in, and he decides he’s had enough of loneliness for several lifetimes.

rage crystal! which, spoilers, chills tango out in another inversion. and like in LL, tango later gives it to etho.

Skizz pauses. “I don’t know what’s up with you and Tango, but I’m glad you’re doing something about it. I miss hanging out with my buddies, we’ve gotta get the band back together. Etho’s been harder to get a hold of too lately and everything is just all weird. I don’t like it.”

it's a shame i needed to keep my character focus really small if i ever wanted to finish the fic, and that i don't feel super confident writing skizz or tango. one day i WILL finish that third-done skizz+scar scene though..... i hope i did him justice

[cutepastelstarsalior]

Clone high living blogging

Episode 2

Oh wow the second hand embarrassment is SO strong when Joan was asleep in class…..

……..Joan knows about Wiccan stuff AND she practices it?? I mean I guess that makes sense seeing as her clone mother was a French saint?

“Women just weren’t friends with each other like that” GIRL what do you mean?????? Like in context Joan is saying she wants friends. I know that the show had a very small character group but ?????? That didn’t mean girls didn’t have girl fiends???

Oh there breaking the 4th wall again…….i feel like this is gonna happen a lot.

Joan really said “im not like other girls”

Harriet and Frida give those vibes of girls who pretend to be friends with the outcast only to betray and bully them…I don’t trust them.

Nooooo jfk don’t have any guy friends because ponce is dead noooooooo :(

Ah hell yeahhhhhh the blue background bathroom are back!!!! :)

Nooooooo Joan had a new foster mom!!!! Cleo’s mom and toots are probably dead :(. Hmmm that makes me wonder, HOW do the clones feel about their family might be dead? Like to them it’s what, been a day? 2? Since they got unfrozen, so it must be so jarring to hear that their family might be dead or something. :(

NOOOOOOOOOO TOOTS IS CANOTICAaly dead :(

Oh no jfk learned out the internet/tiktok

Frida and Harriet murder someone….surprise but not really….

JFK and there getting into an internet battle? :/ ok…do those “correct grammar in arguments” things really happen??? Like in real like?? It feel very specific……

Episode 3

“My boy toy jfk”

Seeing the gang having anxiety is interesting….Lind of gives them characterization…

I feel like this season is very Joan-centric while last was Abe-centric. Mmmm if there is a third season will it be focused on jfk? Or Cleo?

Topher has a emotional support possum :)

It’s neat to see Harriet fear/anxiety of being a “basic wine mom”. I like to think that she just has a fear of motherhood, or like, Amatonormativity.

Them beat the heck out of the monster while saying their fears is so cheesy. Then them saying “oh it’s (insert celebrity name here) from (xyz) is soooo scoops doo like. It’s also cheesy.

Doc….why do your nipple look so gross?

Ooohhh 👀 the clones that got taken are mind controlled 👀

Episode 4

Weird….zombies??? Goblin??? Things

I feel like the reason Joan feels odd this season is because she actually feels very passionate about stuff? Like off the top of my head the only times I remember seeing her very emotional was over Abe, not being allowed to play baseball, anything with Cleo, and the snowflake day. Like, all those time where of anger or yearning so seeing Joan happy/motivated is…..odd.

I still can’t get over Cleo voice. It sound so…high? I’ll why but I keep remembering Cleo old voice as lower?

Oh! I’m right! Her voice WAS lower, (watch a video complicated in Cleo and compare it to her new voice) :/

Ha. Cha cha smooth parody.

Oh sweet! Finally some cool stuff on how the old clones interact with the new one. Aka Joan lie and say the coffe is made from child labor and everyone believes it. Hmm very interesting take on stuff! Like ughhhh media criticism and cancel culture and stuff. Idk man I can’t explain it…

…….. awww we could had have a Joan and Cleo moment were they bond and stuff :(

Did Abe and Cleo ever breakup or are they still a couple?

Hehehe valley girl accent <3

:0 homesteader Cleo!!! Joan did a backflip….neat

:( I just realized I laugh more/chuckled more in season 1 than in season 2. So far the only time I laugh is when slow float about to hit Joan. :(

God I hate Confucius outfit. Dude why are you a triangle??? Why do you’re legs not match you’re top??? Harriet outfit is fine, still an eyesore color wise but fine.

YAY MR B AND JOAN!!!!! Love their friendship :)

YES!!! YES!!!! JOAN AND CLEO FRIENDSHIP???? Or at least no longer enemies!!! Whooo!!!!!!!!

Episode 5

10 years non union internship…..damn. 👀 hmmm would that be a good job? Like if the pay is good and manageable hours then 👀

*looking up clone high Harriet because I was curious why Harriet wants to distrance herself from her clone mom* *see that in season 1 there was already a Harriet* ???????? What….what happened to the original clone? Was she not frozen and she died and Doc was like “yeah likes remake a new Harriet clone lol”

Yay musical episode :)

Oh wow they are good singers, mostly Harriet and Frida

OMG PONCE’s DAD IS BACK yippie!!! :)

I’m like 99% sure that’s not how Footloose works. Wasn’t the dancing ban happen because of a drunk driver or something in the movie?

:( the husbands don’t get along anymore :( Mr b is so catty now

“Abe can’t sing, can’t dance…” i don’t think he even knows karate? I don’t think he’s going make it/lyrics

✨ white guy confidence✨ …………….don’t drink Abe sweat….

Harriet being a pushover/not wanting to speak up against her friend 👀 (also side note it seems like Frida and Harriet stop hang out? Or rather Joan and Harriet are closer friends then with Frida??)

Oh gross they actually drank Abe’s sweat….

Harriet likes her play! It’s different from Joan’s and that fine! Love that Harriet stood up for herself and wants to do her own thing

Oh hey Vincent van go! :) he spoke!!

The said fuck! Literally the first time it happen on the show!! :0

The quiche medphor is nice :)

…..these nerd didn’t try a second time? Also Cleo can dance! She did it with Ashley angel (no pun intended) and she dance at prom????

“Practice makes progress” :) wise words Frida!

Harriet is a good singer

Oh no is jfk and Harriet going to get together???

Ok I think Harriet may be my favorite new clone…

NoOOOOOOOOO NOT THE DINNER !!!!! :0 it’s burning!!!!! Nooooooooooo

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Hello! I love your writing sm. Can I request a third life smp with scar and Ren? Smth like Ren gets cornered by scar and has to escape? Either funny shenanigans or angst or both lol. Thaaaannnkkkssss

ohohohohoho if given the choice i will ALWAYS choose angst lmfao

also thank you!!

…

  At around noon one warm day, Ren is organising the bookshelves around the enchanting table inside Renchanting. Business has been slow today, but perhaps that’s just as well. There haven’t been any deaths in the last couple of days, so the only traffic Renchanting has seen is Impulse coming to enchant another set of diamond armour as a backup. Ren is starting to feel a little lonely; as great as Martyn is to have around, he’s often so focused on his work that he’s not great for conversation. 

  Eventually, he gets bored with his task and wanders outside. To his shock, he spots Scar coming in through the door and automatically reaches for his sword. 

  “Hi, Ren!” chirps Scar, approaching him. “How’s it going?”

  “What do you want?” Ren demands. 

  Scar pouts. “That’s not a nice hello.”

  “You’re not a nice person at the moment,” retorts Ren, before raising his voice to call over his shoulder. “Martyn!”

  “Oh, he’s not here.”

  Ren tightens his grip on his sword. “Where’s Martyn?”

  “Grian’s taken him to the desert to discuss a “business deal”.” Scar makes air quotes over the last two words. “So it’s just the two of us.”

  “Okay… What do you want? A truce?”   “Oh, I’m here to kill you.” 

  Scar’s words strike fear into Ren, who immediately backs away a few steps. “Wh-What? 

  “I’m just kidding!” laughs Scar. “Just kidding.”

  Ren maintains eye contact, ready to run at any moment. “I’m not so sure you are. You ARE unstable enough to just walk in here and slice me in half, though.”

  “Aw, no, Ren. I would never hurt you.”

  “You’re holding a lava bucket in one hand and a diamond sword in the other.”

  “Oh.” Scar glances down at his hands. “So I am. What are you gonna do about it? I’ll remind you that I’m the red name here so you can’t hit me if I don’t hit you first.”

  Ren grips his sword with both hands, holding it in front of him. “Scar, get out. I have the right to defend what’s mine, whether it be my life or my business.”

  “Not if I don’t attack first,” says Scar, grinning maliciously. “Put your sword down and I’ll consider mercy.”

  “No! You’re crazy!”

  “Put the sword down,” Scar repeats. “It’s better for you in the long run.”

  Ren hesitates. He doesn’t trust Scar as far as he can throw him, so anything Scar says is worthless to him. Except his threats. Those are very real. 

  “Will you be happy if you kill me?” he snaps. “Will you finally be happy? Will that finally be enough?”

  “Nothing’s ever enough for a red lifer. I won’t be happy until you’re on red, just like me. You and your employee Martyn of course, but he’s too smart for me. That’s why I had to split you guys up. He’ll be much easier to kill on his own.”

  Ren’s blood runs cold. “No…! G-Grian’s green; he can’t just murder Martyn!”

  “He’ll do anything I tell him to,” responds Scar casually. “He has to.”

  Ren is still slightly doubtful but he wouldn’t put anything past Scar. He knows he and Martyn are in terrible danger and he has to go save his friend.

  If Scar lets him out of here alive.

  “You… um… You mentioned mercy?” he says hesitantly.

  “I did!” Scar beams innocently. “Just put down your sword.”

  After a long hesitation, Ren lowers his sword and tosses it away.

  Scar’s smile turns dark. “Excellent. Let’s shake on it.”

  He holds out his hand. Ren automatically reaches for it, but Scar abruptly snatches it away and strikes his flint and steel, creating a burst of flame that burns Ren’s hand. 

  Crying out in pain, Ren takes off running towards the door. Scar doesn’t follow him, and when Ren flings open the doors, he sees why.

  Four blocks of obsidian block the double doors. With his iron pickaxe, there’s no way Ren can mine them in time. 

  Heart now pounding out of his chest, Ren turns and flees towards the back door. He hears Scar curse and some hope returns to him; clearly, Scar hadn’t known about the other door. 

  Ren bursts out of Renchanting and dashes towards the desert. He doesn’t care that he’s running right towards Scar’s domain; he has to get to Martyn and make sure he’s okay. 

  Out the corner of his eye, he spots an ender pearl land just in front of him. A second later, Scar appears and drops lava directly in front of him. 

  Ren skids to a halt and scrambles back, but the lava has already set the tree behind him on fire, causing the flames to burn his entire right side. 

  “Give it up, Ren!” comes Scar’s thundering voice through the flames. “Come to me and die quickly.”

  Ren doesn’t reply. Forcing back tears and cries of agony, he continues running away from Scar, but his progress is slower now; his right leg feels like it’s on fire. He won’t make it to the desert now, but the village is fairly close. Maybe he can seek refuge there. 

  Soon, he spots the top of Bdubs and Cleo’s castle and realises he’s nearly there, though he’s taken an odd path. His limbs all either ache or burn; he can’t keep going much longer. The pain is starting to overwhelm him. 

  He slows as he reaches the drawbridge, his vision growing fuzzy. 

  “Who’s out there?!” comes Bdubs’s voice distantly.

  “It’s Ren!” Cleo’s voice calls back. “He looks hurt, Bdubs!”

  As soon as Ren takes one more step towards the drawbridge, his knee buckles under him and he collapses.

  He’s unconscious before he hits the ground.

…

  “-at happened?!” 

  “We don’t know, dude! All we saw is him running towards the castle and collapsing right in front of the drawbridge. There didn’t seem to be anyone chasing him but he’s burnt pretty badly.”

  “Oh my god…”

  Ren groans softly as he forces his eyes open. Blinking against the light and his still-fuzzy vision, he struggles to sit up.

  “Whoa, hey, what d’you think you’re doing?” comes Cleo’s voice. 

  “Martyn!” cries Ren, reaching out blindly. “Martyn, are you here?”

  Two hands clasp his. “I’m here, boss,” comes Martyn’s reassuring voice. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  “I…” Ren hesitates. “I don’t…”

  “You got attacked, right?” Martyn grasps his shoulder. “You remember? You got attacked. Tell me who attacked you.”

  “S-Scar.”

  Martyn nods slowly. “I knew it. Grian spilled everything to me.”

  “If you knew what happened all along, why did you yell at us?” snaps Bdubs.

  “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t involved,” Martyn responds. “I’m sorry. All jokes aside, Ren is my strongest ally on this server and I need to make sure I understand what’s going on with him at all times.”

  After a moment, Bdubs nods. “Okay, fine. I’m gonna go keep watch.”

  “Martyn, are you alright?” Ren asks, as Bdubs leaves the room. “Grian didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No, don’t worry,” Martyn assures him. “He eventually straight-up admitted he was just distracting me so Scar could go kill you, but by the time I got back home, you’d already gone. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have let him take me away from you for so long.”

  Ren shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

  Martyn smiles back. “Same, boss. I think we may need some better defences, though.”

  “Yeah,” Ren chuckles, before spotting Cleo hanging around in the background, watching them with her arms folded. “Oh, Cleo, um… Thanks for saving me. Sorry for all the trouble.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” replies Cleo kindly. “It was actually really scary to see you collapse out there; we had no idea what had happened.”

  “Scar didn’t turn up, did he? He was chasing me for a while there.”

  “No, we never saw him.”

  “Okay, good.” Ren shivers. “It was terrifying, Martyn. He tried to make a deal with me, then he burned my hand and-.”

  He breaks off as he lifts said hand and finds it wrapped in bandages. “Wait…”

  “Bdubs patched you up,” Cleo explains. “I helped a bit but it was mostly Bdubs.”

  “Oh. I really need to thank him too. And I hope Scar doesn’t make trouble for you two for helping me.” 

  “Hey, don’t worry. We can take him. In the meantime, Bdubs and I agreed you can stay here while you recover. We can defend you from Scar if he comes to try and finish the job.”

  “Are you sure?” Martyn asks. “I’m happy to take Ren home.”

  “After an attempt on his life?” responds Cleo. “It’d be wiser not to move him.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Thanks, Cleo,” says Ren gratefully. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

  Cleo smiles back. “No problem.”

[reinerispretty]

rotations. (zuko x f!reader) pt9

hello!! welcome back :) thank you guys so much for reading this story, it really truly means the world to me! this is one of the chapters that i’ve been most excited to get to! this chapter is supposed to take place within the tales of ba sing se! 

pt 1

pt 8

pt 10

Still, she couldn’t just waltz into the tea shop without a plan. The last time she had seen Zuko, he had pushed her away. She tried to remind herself that he was probably just distraught over his uncle, but there was still a part of her heart that hurt every time she replayed the scene in her mind.

A lot had happened over the course of a few weeks. They had visited an ancient library, lost Appa, crossed the Serpent’s Pass, battled a literal war machine, and had finally arrived in Ba Sing Se just a few days ago. The officials that had once been so welcoming of their arrival now made the group feel wary. Ba Sing Se was a city full of secrets, but the group wasn’t sure if they wanted to discover all of them. 

While she enjoyed the company of her friends, (Y/N) was starting to feel trapped. The house they stayed in was absolutely lovely, but recently, when she lay down to fall asleep, her mind raced with thoughts of Zuko. The amount of time she wondered about what he was doing, how Iroh was, where they were now, and what she would say to him if they ever got the chance to be alone together seriously dug into her sleep schedule. She woke up each morning feeling sluggish and a little bit grumpy, but she tried her best not to make her friends aware of what was troubling her. She felt bad, constantly coming to them and talking about Zuko. She knew that it was different for them. They had always known Zuko as the enemy. And while he had started to become that for (Y/N) too, there was still a part of her that held on their past and hoped that he could change. She tried to be realistic about most things in life, but when it came to Zuko, she always hoped. 

She decided one day that enough was enough. She would take a day to herself to be alone and relax. She had heard people talking about a wonderful new tea shop that had come to the city, so she decided to go there and have a nice cup to take her mind off of things. 

When she arrived, she was shocked to find the very person she was trying to avoid working in the tea shop. She peered through the window of the tea shop and watched as Zuko and his uncle prepared orders for their customers. She had never imagined Zuko as a working boy and the very sight of it made her giggle. Still, she couldn’t just waltz into the tea shop without a plan. The last time she had seen Zuko, he had pushed her away. She tried to remind herself that he was probably just distraught over his uncle, but there was still a part of her heart that hurt every time she replayed the scene in her mind.

She decided to go home and lay awake again, but this time she would lie awake at night and devise a plan. She was going to have an actual conversation with Zuko, she just had to make sure it was perfect. 

She returned to the shop the next day, but still couldn’t find the courage to walk inside. The same thing happened the day after that. And the day after that. What was wrong with her? She could fight skilled benders twice her size, but she couldn’t walk into a tea shop? Pathetic! 

On the fifth day, she stood in front of the tea shop and wondered whether or not she should enter. But there was a reason she kept coming back, wasn’t there?

People trickled in and out of the shop happily, completely unaware that the men who were serving them were deemed traitors of the Fire Nation. She took a deep breath. She could do this. They were in public. They couldn’t turn her in to the Fire Nation without giving themselves away. She would be safe. 

She entered the tea shop and quickly sat down at an empty table. She reviewed the menu. She couldn’t quite remember the last time she had had a cup of Iroh’s tea, but she remembered how good it tasted. No wonder their shop was always busy. 

Her palms were sweaty as she waited to see who would come take her order: Iroh or Zuko? She wasn’t sure which one she would rather it be. She wiped her clammy hands on the new Earth Kingdom dress she had purchased the other day. Did she look nice? Why did she care about looking nice? 

When Iroh finally noticed her, she also noticed the big smile on his face. Quickly, but without drawing too much attention to himself, he came over to her table. 

“It’s very lovely to see you here,” he said. “What can I get you?” 

“I’ll have a Jasmine tea, please,” she said, her voice small. 

“Ah, Jasmine. A lovely tea. My nephew’s favorite.” She felt her face get hot. 

“So I’ve heard.” Iroh smiled again. 

“Lee!” He called to Zuko. “One Jasmine tea, please. And once you’ve finished, why don’t you take your break?” 

(Y/N) felt herself almost burst into laughter at the fake name Zuko had claimed for himself. The Fire Nation had a billion Lees. 

Zuko nodded at his uncle’s orders, not looking up from his kettle. Once her tea had been properly steeped, he move through the tables before finally reaching hers. Once their eyes met, his hands shook, knocking one of the teacups from his tray. (Y/N) quickly caught it in her hand and placed it on the table. 

“Hi,” She said. 

“Hi.” He set the kettle on her table and then untied his apron. He moved to leave, and she reached out to grab him before thinking better of it. She cleared her throat. 

“Why don’t you sit with me?” 

Zuko narrowed his eyes at her and then glanced at his uncle, who gave him a big thumbs-up. Unhappily, he pulled a chair out and sat. She poured two cups of tea in silence. 

“I’m not going to tell my friends that you’re here, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

“Why should I believe you?” She shrugged. 

“If you’re trying to make a new life, I don’t want to ruin it for you.”

“If you’re not here to rat me out, then why are you here?” 

She took a sip of her tea. She had ran through her big speech to Zuko so many times before she arrived, but once she was actually facing him, the words slipped from her mind. 

“I...I haven’t gotten to actually speak to you for a while. And I’ve wanted to. Then I found your shop one day and I kept coming back.” 

“I haven’t seen you here.” 

“Well, I never really came in. I had to figure out what I wanted to say to you.” 

“And what would that be?” 

She gave him a small smile. “I don’t really know where I’m going with this, to be honest. Whenever I see you, my chest hurts. I get sad and happy and I want to hug you but also fight you at the same time. So, I don’t really know what I’m doing here. I just felt that maybe if we talked--” 

“What?” Zuko demanded. Her eyes met his. She looked at his scar and was brought back to the day of his Agni Kai against his father. 

“I don’t know. I wanted to let you know that I cared about you still. Despite everything.” 

This drew Zuko into a long silence. He stared at her, for a while. She was dressed in a green Earth Kingdom dress. It wasn’t the one she normally wore for her disguise. While he preferred her in red, he had to admit that she looked beautiful in any color she wore. Her (color) eyes shined with hope. Her (color) hair was loose against her back, while half of it was up in a top knot that hinted at her Fire Nation heritage. 

Before he had started hunting the Avatar, the last time he had really looked at (Y/N) was when she entered his chambers before he fought his father. She had looked so scared then. She didn’t look scared now. She looked ready to face anything.

He hadn’t meant to leave the Fire Nation without saying goodbye to her. After his duel with his father and his banishment, he hadn’t wanted to see her. He didn’t want to look in her eyes and see the disappointment he so desperately feared. So he had boarded his ship and sailed away. He thought it would be easier that way. He wanted to tell her that, but he couldn’t find the words. 

“I have thought about you every day for the past two years,” Zuko said quietly. She felt her eyes brimming with tears. 

“I have to go,” she said. She placed a few gold coins on the table. It was far too much for a cup of tea, but she didn’t care. She leaned in close to him, like they used to when they were children. “I miss you, Zuko.” 

Zuko closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was gone. 

---

thanks for reading!

Tag List! 

@mdgrdians , @soft4kei , @bubblebars , @pleasantfankingdom , @vintageroses1014516 , @celamoon , @fangirlanotherjust , @gliderbudgie , @haylaansmi , @jada-cleo , @boxofteenageideas , @disgruntled-gay , @lie-ana , @jasmine-the-amazing , @svsoftie , @buckysfeet , @anime-simp , @imcravingyou , @rosetheshapeshifter , @alrightberries , @izzieserra , @hstott , @random-stupid-stuffs , @jackbamexpress , @jainaixo , @thefoxskinwalker , @kryptidkova , @bigbuckyenergy , @omgwhattheeven , @ohmigooosh , @snapchatisoverrated , @inlove-maze , @harapirena , @sooske , @sweeetteaa , @selenvx , @ilovespideyyy , @saaaasib , @mochminnie , 

[rayveewrites]

So @clueative commented on my Last Player AU post with a request for a vaguely-defined 'more', so I guess here you go?

Today we're talking about the relationship between Cleo and the citizens of Hermiton, because why not.

So the thing is, the citizens in general don't really know what Cleo's deal is. They're aware that she exists, that she lives in the forest, that pissing her off is a bad idea but she might help you out if you manage to get lost (the forest is actually officially considered a state park, because nobody can really do anything else with it without Cleo interceding, and Cleo herself doesn't really exist from a legal standpoint). So it's typically believed she's some sort of fae-esque being, or something. It's not really clear.

Cleo herself doesn't really talk much, not to Humans, anyway. She sort of subconsciously chooses to distance herself, because she's Undying and Humans, well, aren't. She's lost plenty of people over the years, and it hurts her every time. It's better to not get attached at all, even if it does mean she does get lonely.

It's worth mentioning that Cleo can and does leave the forest! The forest is where she... dwells (can't exactly say lives, can I? And it's not her home, not really, because her home was never a place, it was a people), but she's free to exit it. She goes into the city sometimes, usually at night, covered up so the unnatural hue of her skin isn't as obvious (the orange colour of the streetlights also tend to throw the colour off). She pays for things legitimately, usually by selling off gold nuggets that she got from mining, because what else is she going to do with gold? Besides, it's the currency here. Even though it's practically useless. Eh, maybe Humans have discovered some use that she isn't aware of. Who knows.

And yes, the gold nuggets do, in fact, reinforce the faerie theory.

Now, here's the odd thing: Cleo doesn't talk much, but she does talk. But the citizens still refer to her as just 'the Green Lady'. Why is that?

Basically? Nobody thinks to ask. The thing is... Cleo's a zombie. Not only that, she's the only zombie left. And Humans fear zombies instinctually. Even though zombies- true zombies- haven't existed for thousands of years, there's an ancestral memory that fears the monsters of the night. And Cleo tends to activate it.

So often during encounters, people tend to freeze up, and stumble over their words- they're not really in the headspace to ask for her name until they start to relax, and by that point the encounter's usually over. And Cleo just... doesn't think to mention. She's used to instinctively knowing someone's name when she looks at them [the equivalent of Players being able to read Player tags/ nametags], and keeps forgetting that Humans can't do that.

She does have a degree of respect for them, though! While it's difficult for her to wrap her head around the fact they don't see the world in blocks and chunks, she's aware they don't have things like inventories or much strength, and can't help but feel impressed that they manage to build things in spite of this (once she tried to go a week without using her inventory. It was a pain in the ass. Using it is just second nature to her).

[ashtreehollow]

Crastle Comfort

Hi I wrote a 3rd Life fic?? I had an idea and ran with it. Warning: Does contain spoilers for this week (week 6)’s session of 3rd Life!!

Pairing: Bdubds & ZombieCleo (platonic) Word Count: 1560 Summary:  When Bdubs comes back to the 3rd Life server, he isn't quite sure what to expect after the chaotic session he missed. He isn't expecting Ren going full Red King, or the fallout over Pizza's death, but he's certainly not expecting a changed Cleo.

You can also read it on AO3!

When Bdubs returned to the 3rd Life server, he was fully prepared to hunker down and fortify the Crastle even more, and make good on his new status as a Red Life (he’d even pulled out his trusty red bandana for the occasion). When he spawned into the server, near his bed on the second floor, he was raring to go, a sort of something thrumming through his veins just under the surface. In the back of his brain, he paused to wonder if this was the bloodlust he and Cleo had joked about, if this hunger lay within all the other Reds. Distracted by his thoughts, Bdubs was surprised when he felt two cold arms wrap around his body, and a panicked thought crossed his mind.

Was this it? Had someone spawn-camped just to kill him, to take his final life right as he made it back to the server?

“Bdubs, you’re back!”

Oh. Of course it was Cleo, waiting to welcome him back with a hug! How sweet of her.

“Cleo, I’m back! How are y-?” The question died on his lips as he pulled away and finally got a look at his teammate. For a moment, he was worried she was on fire, and shuffled through his inventory for a water bucket before realizing no, she wasn't actually on fire - he thought?

Cleo’s hair, already naturally fiery red, seemed to be glowing now. The ends of her hair ended in flame, and crackled gently as the flames flickered; the once-green leaves in her hair now resembled embers. He finally made eye contact with her and dread filled his stomach as golden-yellow eyes stared back.

“Oh Cleo...what happened?” Bdubs asked as he pulled her in for another quick hug. Cleo pulled back, one hand coming to clutch the fabric of her blouse, right next to the now-yellow glowing heart brooch. Her eyes hardened as she looked at him.

“What happened, Bdubs, is that I died.” Came her reply, anger thinly-veiled in her voice.

“Well, yeah, I figured, but- how?” He asked, before a thought came to mind. “Was it Grian and Scar? Did they do this to you? Cleo, I swear I’ll go out there right now and-”

“No Bdubs, it wasn’t them.” Seeing his confused look, Cleo took a deep breath. “I’m technically in an alliance with them now.” Her gaze shifted to the side, away from her teammate’s crimson gaze. A wave of shame washed over her.

“What?! Cleo, how could you?? They killed me!”

He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but anger and betrayal had him near-shouting. He felt the something (the bloodlust) thrum in his veins, heart beating in his ears.

“I had no choice Bdubs!” Cleo retorted, eyes and hair blazing. “You left me, alone, with broken alliances. I was desperate!”

“What about Ren and Martyn? Aren’t we friends?” Confusion painted his voice. Would Cleo betray them like that?

“Apparently not!” Cleo shouted, throwing her hands in the air. Huffing, she turned away from him, arms coming up to hug herself as she glanced out the window.

“Cleo…” His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. “What happened?”

Taking another breath, she sat on the chest in front of her, facing Bdubs.

“I tried to make friends, y’know? I figured it’d be good to do some damage control and apologize to Joel for sort-of killing him, even if he’s the one who jumped into the fire.” She shook her head as a small smile pulled at her lips and a chuckle left Bdubs’ mouth.

“He accepted my apology, he did. I gave him a crossbow, and I figured I’d try to talk to Ren, explain and find out where I stand with His Majesty,” her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I found out, alright.

“He’d already put us in his little Black Book, all because I’d burned Joel’s house. He and Martyn didn’t even give me a chance to explain that we had made up. Ren wouldn’t listen to reason, he-!” She locked eyes with Bdubs again, fear swimming in her gaze.

“He’s gone mad, Bdubs. He calls himself the Red King, for Void’s sake!”

Bdubs was shocked by the fear and anger in her voice, the wateriness of her eyes hinting at the beginning of tears. He approached her slowly, taking the spot next to her upon the chest and tentatively resting an arm around her shoulders. He felt her sag against him.

“I had no choice. We have the weaponry, but I can’t defend the Crastle by myself. I had to join Scar.” Bdubs’ heart broke at the waver in her voice. To see and hear Cleo cracking like this, he hated himself for leaving her in that position.

“So then,” he started. “Grian and Scar didn’t do..this to you...did they?” She dropped her gaze as she shook her head.

“It was the last battle of the session. Joel had shot at the Red Army-” Bdubs’ eyes widened at the name. “-and we were defending Bean Hill. I’d gotten hit a few times and was already on fire and low health when the last arrow knocked me off the roof.” She spat a rueful laugh. “I landed on the stupid fence and that was it.”

Bdubs swallowed thickly, the dread in his stomach morphing into a growing ire. He had a feeling he knew the answer to the question he was about to ask, but he had to know, had to hear it from her.

“Cleo,” she met his gaze, yellow amber meeting steely crimson. “Whose arrow was it?” He asked.

…

“It was Ren’s.”

It took everything in Bdubs not to explode and go out for vengeance right that second. The only thing he could hear was the blood pumping in his ears, his heart pounding so loud he was sure Cleo could hear it. A voice in the back of his mind told him to go go go get revenge kill the King he deserves it he needs to pay-

But looking at Cleo - his teammate, his friend, his bond - he knew where he needed to be. The pounding in his ears died down as he brought her into a proper hug, and he felt her hands grip his shirt as he ran a hand gently through her hair. He noticed distantly that while Cleo always ran cold, she was warmer now. Still well-below a safe body temp, it felt less like hugging an actual corpse and more like hugging someone who’d been outside without a coat.

Ironic how the zombie felt more alive the closer to death she was.

“Bdubs,” they pulled away to look at each other. “I understand if you want to split up. I know Scar and Grian killed you, and I get it if this alliance won’t work.” He stared at her in shock.

“Cleo, I don’t care if you joined the Desert alliance, I- well, okay I care a little and I’m still kinda mad at them but- THAT’S not the point!” he shook his head.

“What does matter, is you Cleo. We’re Day One gang, Team Crastle, and that matters more to me than what alliances we have.” He could feel his voice getting thick with emotion.

“Cleo, as long as Team Crastle stays together, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Even the Nether?” She asks, a smile finally gracing her face, laughter in her voice and her eyes.

“Okay, well, I don’t know about all that,” They both laughed. “I mean it Cleo. While I can’t promise I’ll always be there, I’ll try my best.”

“Me too Bdubs.”

They sat there a moment, just existing in the comfort of each other’s company. It was a few minutes later that Bdubs stood up, hands on his hips and walking over to another chest to check inventory.

“Alright Cleo, we got some planning to do if we wanna take Ren down a peg. What and who are we working with?” His tone was light, a grin back on his face and a mischievous look in his eyes. Cleo shot a smirk back as she stood to open the chest that had served as their seat.

“Well, the Hobbits I think are pretty solid allies right now, and we’re all with Grian and Scar. Joel is sort of with us, but he’s a wildcard and could flip at any moment.” She pulled two crossbows and a handful of hurty arrows from the chest, noticing that several were missing from the supply.

‘May have to go ask for repayment from someone.’ She thought.

“What about Impulse and Tango?” Bdubs asked with a grimace as he took an offered crossbow.

“I think we’re okay with Impulse, but he’s with the Red Army now. Scar took Tango in when he told us Etho and Impulse didn’t trust him anymore, but I caught him reporting back to them about Scar.”

“Oho, double agent! We’ll have some fun with that!” Bdubs responded as the two of them made their way downstairs, adjusting armor and stocking their bags with weapons and food, before leaving the safety of the Crastle. The two could be heard as Bdubs loudly mourned the loss of his crenellations at the hands of Etho. Cleo only laughed as the two set off to meet with their allies to plan the fall of the Red King.

[hacked-by-jake]

"Will you be my wife?"

HEELLOO GUYS 👋🏻

Here I am again. I was inspired by the videos about such situations. I am not completely enthusiastic about the story but unfortunately I didn’t know anything to improve it. Blackout. Maybe make a remake of it someday, I hope you like it anyway and excuse the mistakes.

And many thanks to all who follow me! Much love for each of you🥺❤️

🌹🎭

"I don’t believe it, I married Richy" Jessy squeals, looking at Richy sitting at a table with his boys.

You, Jessy, Cleo, Hannah, Lilly and two other friends of Jessy are standing on the dance floor.

"Well, I thought you were marrying Dan" Hannah giggles.

"No, Dan and I just don’t fit together, my heart beats for Richy" Jessy raves again.

"Didn’t you want to throw bridal bouquet?" asks Cleo.

"OH, YES TRUE" calls the new bride and runs to the DJ to steal the microphone.

Shortly thereafter, her voice echoes through the loudspeakers.

"My dear female guests, all unmarried girls, stand up, I am now throwing the bouquet."

Some start to cheer and come immediately on the dance floor.

I’m being pulled straight into the front row by Hannah.

"No, I wanted to be right in the middle of them all" you murmur, you don’t think much of these customs. Half of Duskwood was invited to the wedding.

A moment later, almost all the women are standing in the middle and Jessy is standing 3 meters in front.

"Marry You by Bruno Mars- starts playing.

"Cliché" you think with a grin.

You haven’t even looked at Jake, you two haven’t talked about getting married very often.

The DJ starts a countdown.

"10...9...8..."

Jessy stand with her back to all of you.

At the number One, she does not throw the ostrich as expected.

All of a sudden, she turns around very slowly and walks right up to you.

You look at her confused.

"You have to throw" you explain to her.

She’s give the flowers to you.

"Jessy what are you doing?" you ask again.

Jessy grabs your shoulders and turns you around.

Behind you, everyone stand in a circle.

And how else could it be, you’re looking in Jakes face.

In his hand a small red box of velvet.

"Oh my God" you shout overpowered and hold your hands in front of your face.

So many emotions flow through your body.

You turn away from Jake and take two steps just to turn back to him again.

He grins at you shyly but resolutely, holding a hand for you to reach for.

He pulls you to himself and immediately the first tears run out of your eyes.

"Oh, God" you mumble again.

"Hi babe" he mumbles.

"I know you don’t really like that much attention, but I think it’s about time I did the right thing. You are the only thing that matters to me, the only thing that has ever counted and will count. You are everything to me.

You are my only love, my one true love, my everything, my world and my heart, my life and my grief.

My joy and my fear, my girl. Oh damn, I love you more than I could ever describe. I know I can be exhausting. I know I can be stupid.

I know I can be a asshole.

I know I’m not easy and sometimes I stress you or I don’t pay enough attention to you.

And I just hope you can handle it, because you’re not so easy either." You two giggles.

"You’re just all I want and all I’ll ever need, my love, I just need you, to live, to be happy.

And that’s why I want to ask you now, here, today."

Jake takes a deep breath and kneels on the floor in front of you.

Now you’re crying more and more, it feels like it’s all just a dream.

Every cell in your body tingles and feels tense, tense with happiness.

Jake opens the little box.

In the small box, a beautiful ring glittered. (Think of your ring as you would like it)

"And that’s why I want to ask you, do you want to lead a chaotic life with me? A completely crazy and exciting life with me at your side? I mean, with the two of us it can only be a chaos" he smiles.

"So, will you marry me? Will you be my wife?"

You’re holding your breath.

Sure, you’ve already imagined a few times how this moment could be, how it would go and how you would react. You knew these words would come now and yet they take your breath away.

You want to answer "yes" and fall around his neck but your words are stuck in your throat.

Suddenly the doors of the hall are torn open.

A lot of men with big guns come running in, shouting at each other’s orders.

"WE ARE THE FBI! JAKE (last name) RAISE YOUR ARMS OVER YOUR HEAD IMMEDIATELY! YOU ARE ARRESTED FOR HACKING THE GOVERNMENT SERVERS"

Before you can react, you’ll be pulled back and held by Richy.

An FBI Agend holds a gun to Jake’s head to keep him calm.

He drops the box with the ring and raises his hands above his head.

Another agent kicks his back and Jake falls to the ground.

Two men handcuff him, Jake doesn’t fight, he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t even look at you.

Everything around you is deaf.

Jake is pulled up by the officers and brought outside.

You hear a terrible loud scream, you get goose bumps so tortured it sounds.

Then you realize it was your scream.

You want to tear yourself away from Richy, but he holds you even tighter and pulls you into a hug.

"Jake" you’re screaming.

You’re trying to hit Richy, but he’s holding your arms together.

"No, not Jake" you call again.

You’re crying like hell.

You’re having trouble getting air.

Suddenly you get a slight bump in the back.

Your environment is changing.

Jake is kneeling in front of you.

"MC" whispers Jessy softly.

It was just my imagination.

It wasn’t real, it was imagination.

Your mind has just shown you your greatest fear.

Losing Jake is your biggest fear.

It’s like your mind was trying to show you that the only right thing is to marry Jake, to be with him forever.

"Oh God YES! YES YES YES! OF COURSE I WANT TO MARRY YOU" you call out happy.

Jake opens his eyes and has to realize your words.

Three seconds later, he jumps up and puts his arms around your back.

He lift you up and spin you around.

You laugh happily and Jake also loses a small tear that you immediately kiss away.

There’s cheering and clapping all around you.

"YEAHHH" shouts Jessy loudly and hugs Hannah stormily.

Richy and Dan clap and Thomas rejoices.

Cleo wipes a tear from his eye.

Hannah and Jessy jump up and down.

Jessy cries 100 times today.

And you, you cry and you can’t believe how lucky you are.

"I love you" you mumble at Jake’s neck.

"I love you so much" you repeat.

"And I love you" he murmurs.

He stand you back on the floor and take a step back.

He grabs your hand, your two hands tremble with excitement as Jake puts the ring on your finger.

The ring fits perfectly, more than perfectly, as if it were made just for you.

"Shit, I love you so much" he breathes again and puts his lips on yours.

And right now, all that matters is your kiss.

The proposal, just you and him, and it counts forever.

"Now, congratulations" you hear Richy calling, and unfortunately, you and Jake have to break up.

"We have plenty of time for us at home, and then we’ll talk about your daydream you had. Don’t think I didn’t notice it right away" he whispers in your ear.

Yes, unfortunately, you often have such daydreams in which Jake either or has a fight with other hackers or with gangs. Your fear of losing Jake is enormous and nothing would be worse for you.

"okay babe" you mumble.

Then you two smile again.

Jake actually wants to take your hand but he is suddenly pulled by Richy in a hug.

"Congratulations, bro" Richy shouts aloud.

Like two teenagers, they both hit each other on the back.

Richy and Jake became best friends, like you and Jessy.

You often yo out together.

The two guys have quite a lot in common has turned out.

Jessy falls into your arms.

"Congratulations, God, congratulations" she cries almost more than you do.

"Jessy please don’t cry," you beg even though you cry yourself.

"Forget it, I can do it, my best friend is getting married," she shouts.

"Wait, we’re engaged, take it easy," you giggle.

Jessy steps aside and Hannah immediately hugs you.

Dan and Thomas congratulate you and Jake after each other.

Dan and you became good friends, too, and when you get to know him better, he’s really nice.

A waiter brings a tray with glasses of sparkling wine.

He gives everyone a glass.

"Could I have whiskey?" asks Dan.

You’re starting to laugh.

The waiter answers with a "yes" and goes to fetch him his glass.

Lilly’s coming towards you and Jake.

Jake stands next to you and puts an arm around your hip and pulls you to himself.

You lean your head against his shoulder and look at him happy.

Lilly stops in front of you.

You raise an eyebrow.

Jake’s grip on your hip tightens, but it doesn’t hurt.

"Well, I know what I’ve done, I can’t undo it. But I want to apologize to you guys for everything I’ve done. I hope you can forgive me, and congratulations on the engagement, "she explains.

Her face turns red, she’s uncomfortable.

You still don’t really like her.

To annoy her, you look skeptical at Jake.

Now he skeptically pulls up an eyebrow.

"What do you mean, babe?" he asks you and then looks at Lilly.

"Shall we forgive her?"

"I don’t know, she did you more harm than me, it’s your choice, but I think we both accept the apology, right?" you answer.

"Yes, yes, we do" Jake smiles lightly.

And you look at Lilly with a smile.

Today happened to much good things to have now a bad mood

Thomas raises his glass to toast.

"We toast for Jake and MC" Hannah calls and also raises her glass.

"And for Jessy and Richy" answers Jake.

"Here's to those who wish us well, all the rest can go to hell" Jessy grins.

"Tobias" calls Dan and hold up his Glass of Whiskey.

"Who is Tobias?" Cleo asks confused.

We are all confused.

"No, not who, Tobias= two beers" explains Dan and laughs.

"That was the worst toast ever" Richy giggles.

"Do we want to fight?" asks Dan for fun.

"A toast of all of us" you say and raise your glass too.

"To all of us" you all shout at the same time.

"Wait, you all knew about Jake’s plan, right?" you ask.                                         

As if he knew nothing, Jake smiles innocently.                                                  

 "We were afraid Jessy would tell you" Richy laughs and gives his wife a kiss. "Hey, I would never betray something like that" insulted she turns away from him

"Party, let’s gooooo" Hannah shouts laughing.

-

The rest of the evening you will celebrate a wedding and an engagement.

Your own engagement. Again and again guests come to you and Jake and congratulate you too. It’s just the most beautiful day in the world.

You were just in the bathroom and now you’re going back to the hall.  the passage connects the hall and the bathroom.

You’re the only one in the long aisle.

In the middle on the left is the men’s toilet.

You past it and whistle a song.

You can’t really hear it because the music is so loud, but it doesn’t matter.

You always whistle when you’re happy.

Through the loud music you do not hear how a door is opened and closed again.

Nor can you hear the footsteps behind you.

Suddenly someone grabs you by the hip and before you can react, you are turned around and ends up with your back against the wall.

It doesn’t hurt but before you can see your attacker, you will be kissed.

Immediately your favorite smell gets in your nose.

You put your hands on Jake’s neck and pull him even closer to you.

Jake presses his body firmly against yours and you gasp.

That’s what Jake uses to deepen your kiss.

His left hand pinches into your skin on hip and the right hand lies on the back of your head and slightly claws into your hair.

You breathe loudly as Jake slightly pulls your head back and puts his lips on your neck.

With his tongue he goes over your skin and kisses the spot under your ear.

"It’s 4:00 in the morning babe, do we want to go home so slowly? I’d like..." he takes a break to kiss your neck again.

Your hands reach into his perfectly styled hair.

"I’d love to have time alone with you" Jake growls in your ear.

Immediately your breath gets faster, and automatically you squeeze your body even tighter.

You’re breath hard.

"We have an engagement to celebrate" he breathes.

"I think it’s really time to go home" you say whispering.

"Good decision honey"

--

Masterlist

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

Pirate AU Masterpost

Different ships captained and crewed by different hermits, maybe some could be normal sailors too? Or maybe even some could be sirens? There could be a pirate ship, a pirate hunting ship/law-keeping ship, some random shipping vessels, some sirens or sea monsters, or whatever else! I envision Doc as a pirate captain and Xisuma as the law enforcement captain, but it's open to whatever changes! (@-shadeswiftdraws.)

Headcanons to start us off:

-Bdubs is a fruity sailor.

-Cub and Scar sell things to both pirates and the law enforcement. They only take the aide of profit.

-DocM threatened Bdubs into joining him. Whether it worked is up to the 'what gets popular' Gods. If not, he probably just holds Bdubs hostage or something.

-Hypnotizd's bandana has a skull and crossbones on it, as does Etho's headband.

-False is feared by Doc.

-Grian has a parrot that always sits on his shoulder. Doc keeps telling him to get rid of it but Grian refuses.

-Iskall wears an eyepatch.

-Hypnotizd has scurvy.

-iJevin makes maps and sells em to pirates to keep them off his back. Did he bury the treasure? I dunno.

-All of ZIT collectively own a boat. They like to pretend its a yacht and have fun. Sometimes they just use it to relax, sometimes they just go fishing. Sometimes they scare each other with stories of pirates and massive storms.

-Joe Hills is scared of the water because he nearly drowned as a child. But when he ends up accidentally stowing away on the ZIT boat, his worst fears happen.

-Keralis is Xisuma's second in command.

-TFC is a retired sailor that knows too much.

-VintageBeef and basically all of the NHO are with Doc.

-XbCrafted grew up by the beach and likes to collect shells. One time he found a fossil of a dinosaur. What will he do? I don't know. His childhood friend, Hypnotizd, left to be a pirate. Xb hasn't heard from him since (he promised he'd write letters,) and fears the worst.

-ZombieCleo is a dead zombie captain. Her and her crew (the gals, and maybe some co,) are out to get their revenge on Doc. Her second in command is Stress but her main muscle in False.

-Mumbo is usually the one who works maintenance on the ship. (He's with Xisuma.)

-Rendog got stuck on an island he's called 'Loser Island' and has been there for at least a year. He's found by Doc.

-Stressmonster makes people fear her through her name, but they usually laugh when they see her because she's really unintimidating.

-Welsknight hoardes cool swords.

-Everyone underestimates Stress when they see her but those who have faced her in battle have realized their mistake. She is slowly but surely gaining the reputation as one of the most feared pirates of the seven seas. She’s still very sweet if you get to know her tho - 🌙

-At some point while attempting to leave the ZIT crew's yacht, Joe somehow ends up with Cleo and the gals in the middle of the ocean, who take pity on him. Because they help him with his fear and take care of him on the way back to land, he decides to stick with them for good. The Navy and a lot of other pirates don't believe that Cleo can be the captain of such a feared vessel or that False can be that deadly and decide that Joe must be doing it all. He takes joy in deferring to Cleo whenever he can, and the whole crew gets a laugh out of his combat attempts. He mainly handles navigation and stuff, though he does record their adventures and anonymously submit them to newspapers and/or publish his accounts. (Don't want to skip the Joe+ZIT stuff, just love him and Cleo and need that dynamic :-) )

-Half siren/merman grian? - Frost Anon

-Different anon adding to the Merman Wels idea, he's a siren but instead of stealing your life he steals your swords and shinies. Some pirates may be on good terms with him and gives him swords occasionally and ask for directions or just hang out with him and be nice (I'd think Ren would sing with him and Jevin would hang out and steal shinies with him landing both their crews on good terms with him. He may even follow them around as it can be lonely in the ocean)

-Mumbo never meant to be a pirate. There was just a mutiny of the last captain he was under and everyone liked him enough to keep him around.

-Some loser thinks that joe is the muscle of the group and asks for a duel. cleo decides fuck it and just pushes joe into a fight with them because thats how she be sometimes. (False is on standby so joe doesn't get creamed)

-https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/619926302710956032/another-take-on-the-pirate-au-concept

- At some point, Cleo's ship begins picking up stray orphaned children. They are kept safe below deck during battle and are taught by the crew how to run a ship and fight, but Cleo also teaches them stuff like how to read and do math. The crew is very protective of the young'uns and the ship eventually becomes known for the fact that they take care of kids. Most other ships, upon learning this, respect that and don't attack them. If a ship does, they will find that the Rotten Corpse is viscous, and has many powerful friends who will back them up. If Doc or X come across Cleo's ship, they will give the kids gifts and stay close for a bit to provide protection. As the kids grow up some go back to shore and build legitimate/legal lives (including opening an orphanage) but a group of them go off and become their own pirate crew! Their ship's name? I don't know, I'm not clever.

-In a tavern someone's just like "im gonna sail to this island." Tfc, sitting nearby "you wont find anything" a little while later that ship goes missing. No one actually knows what tfc found in his sailing days. But my god does he know where to avoid

(All above in red are from our community's lovely Anons!)

-The ZIT boat is a bit of a disaster because each person always thinks it's the other people's turn to maintain it. Joe probably saw it on an evening beach walk and thought it was abandoned, decided to explore it, and accidentally fell asleep in the hold. He wakes up to the ZIT boys arguing about what to do with him.

-Xisuma has a reputation for being strict and disciplined and running a very tight ship, but if you're actually on his crew you'll know that's a front for intimidation purposes. In reality he is organised but extremely forgiving, and he will often sit down with crew who are new or going through something stressful and talk it out with them.

-Iskall is with Cleo's crew, he appears just as driven as the rest of them but he's mostly just there to make sure Cleo and co don't go too overboard with the revenge thing. He just doesn't want them to do something they'll regret....

-Wels can be a merman! He hoards cool swords as souvenirs of the surface world and dreams of two-legged adventurers and explorers.

-The "incident" that put Cleo on the path of undead revenge was partially accidental. Doc's goal was to raid the ship and get away with no casualties, but things escalated way too quickly. He is haunted by what happened, but Cleo doesn't know that and is determined to hunt him and his crew down.

-Pirate singalong nights! Doc's ship definitely has a singalong under the stars every night, where everyone can gather together and relax and let loose. It's fun to think about who would be good at it, and who would be bad at it but sing anyway ☺️

-Grian starts off on Doc's ship (with his parrot), but he gets washed overboard in a storm. Siren!Wels rescues him and gives him siren magic.

-I got tired of referring to "Xisuma's ship" and "Doc's ship", so: X's ship is called the Voidrunner, and Doc's vessel is the Black Goat. (Cleo's is The Rotting Corpse -Anon.)

-(I did a submission mentioning ConPost earlier, so look at that for context) The ConPost boys don't sail, but they're very knowledgable about sailing supplies and even ship repair. Cub does bookkeeping and negotiates big deals. Scar likes to wander the docks checking stock levels, with Jellie napping in piles of rope or following close behind.

-https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/619819577428279296/for-the-pirate-au-cub-and-scar-own-a-supply

-Xisuma is feared and respected by pirates because his ship is one of the first/only steam powered vessels at the time. Mumbo is his engineer; he maintains the mechanics and is constantly testing ways to make the ship faster and more efficient.

-If you ask Iskall why he wears an eye patch, you will get a wild tale of adventure and heroic battle that may take an hour to relate. However, the story is different every time. He actually lost his eye in a completely non-pirate related accident as a child. It just sounds cooler the way he tells it 😂

- About Joe moving from the ZIT crew to Cleo's ship: Joe really wants to be taken back to shore, and the ZIT lads understand his fear of water and try to take him back as soon as possible. However, they get caught in a storm, and the boat isn't in great shape to weather it. The boat is not quite wrecked, but badly damaged, and Joe is washed overboard. Cleo's crew finds him and pulls him aboard to save him (maybe siren!Wels helped bring him to her!)

-As a pirate Etho is known for his skill in boarding enemy ships. It doesn't matter how many ropes you cut, how many pirate grappling hooks you throw into the sea in an effort to keep them from your decks. Even if there's no possible way across, Etho will just sort of.. . End Up on your ship, and you will end up in Davy Jones' locker. (Based on the creepy teleport thing with Grian, and just Etho's general cryptid-ness)

-The sea spray and the general ocean humidity is horrible for Doc's arm. Ren helps him keep it as clean and rust-proof as possible, but it still probably squeaks a lot and stiffens up sometimes.

(-@shadeswiftdraws.)

-ZombieCleo's gal (& co.) crew includes Iskall. [More info pending for when I finally get around to watching s6 and see the infamous Iskall & Stress duo in action] (-@basaltdragon.)

-Inspired by shade: Cub is an ex-sailor, and Scar grew up in a family of fishers. Cub was really good at ship maintainence (he just got sick of the politics), and Scar loved keeping stock of the fishing nets and what sort of fish were caught, how much they might sell for, though he's not as good at repairs.

-For the Pirate AU, Mumbo telling Siren/MerGrian stories of the surface world and (secretly?) making a way for Grian to see it for himself. (-@shiniestumbreon.)

-Pirate au: one day there is a really bad storm that destroys all of the hermits boats except for one of them. So now all the hermits are all on one boat that’s really far away from land. (Angst part) some of them went over board (I’m thinking the captains maybe) so the remaining hermits are either grieving them or looking desperately hoping that their crew mates are still alive and clinging to wreckage. Who they find, if they do find any of them is up to the reader for now. (-@lookitsspacekween.)

- Mumbo, being the spoon he is always forgets where he buries his treasure. (-@xxpzmistxx.)

-Mumbo, as the Voidrunner's engineer, has so much to work on that Xisuma will sometimes take over the maintenance so poor Mumbo can get some sleep. This leads to the hunt for a secondary engineer and maybe that's how Mumbo and Iskal end up meeting. (-@my-cat-is-a-bastard.)

-A cat scratched out Iskall's eye as a kid, and he's too embarrassed to tell anyone. He's still a bit afraid of cats, so you'll always see him keeping a close eye on Jellie when he's at the dock. (-@12u3ie.)

- i dont really know much about pirates but ima try!! ok so, cleo is human, but she gets the nickname "zombie cleo" because she faked her own death. people thought she drowned, and her old crew along with her. most of them went to live normal lives under different names, but cleo missed the sea and eventually returned to being a pirate, eventually becoming the capitain of a new ship. (i hope this makes sense lol) (-@bakubakunyanyaa.)

-Pirate headcanons! As someone said before Ren and Wels are friends and like to sign together. I can imagine Wels telling the Black Goat that there is a treasure burried in Loser Island to get Ren rescued. Also! People think Ren is halve siren/has siren magic as he is really good at singing and the melodies he hums are similar to the ones sirens are said to sing, turns out just a bit of siren magic and Wels singing style rubbed on Ren during all the time they spent together singing.

-More pirate hc cause i have no self control and they are not a lot of them: Doc gives shiny stuff to Wels in exchange of him warning them when X’s crew is on a port. Iskall is also a great engineer and is working to make the Rotten Corpse Steam powered too. He insist Cleo to let him take a peek on the Voidrunner to see if he can copy Mumbo’s work, the gals agree this is the most dangerous idea Iskall has.

(-@ivi-prism.)

-Ship AU! Hypno originally joined the ship's crew with his friend, Jessassin. They became a swashbuckling duo, and still sometimes work together, despite Jessassin's inactivity from pirate duties. (-@calmshejaguar.)

[sunnymenagerie]

RuPaul's Drag Race: Where Was Pink Slip?

Tina was right...there….and RuPaul really went and sent home a queen that was on the rise and not the one that’s been in quicksand from day one?

The remaining eight queens reached the makeover challenge and because of Miss Rona, could not makeover anyone from the outside world, so they were paired off by a psychic - yeah - and told to makeover one another in their drag style. First though, what the fuck was up with the psychic, and did anyone else feel like RuPaul wasn’t in the room with them? He looked like he was in front of a green screen the entire time and the psychic? Random.

She went from talking about Tina’s never-there-father to Utica’s dead cow. Again, random. Like, can we not act shocked that this lady knew things that they probably said online or in their audition videos? Anyways...Dollar Tree Miss Cleo paired the girls off in teams of two based on who could learn the most from one another. Unfortunately for the uptight Rose that meant getting down with the red, yellow, and orange-hued loosey-goosey Tina Burner. I went into this worried for Rose because they were going to be judged as a pair this week and well, that first look Tina put Rose in was a hot fucking mess. However, what she walked down the runway in was somehow worse!

Speaking of worried, from the preview last week I knew Symone and Utica were going to be quite the pair, and with one of them just having visited the bottom two...I didn’t know if that was going to deflate the small-town queen or ignite her. Right after we watched her rock an afro made of squirrels as if not to appropriate a white man with an afro, we watched her become very wary of stepping into the fierce heels of Symone because like all of Symone’s runways, her makeover one was unapologetically Black. Inspired by the Halle Berry cult classic ‘BAPS,’ Utica was either going to fucking serve or wind up lip-syncing for the second time in a row, and we all know it would’ve been her last. However, it wasn’t just on Utica’s fear of being canceled, because Utica’s look and runway walk is just as hard to imitate, especially for a fashion queen like her partner. Thankfully this pairing fucking worked, which is something I can’t say for Olivia and Denali.

Three of the pairs were pretty evenly matched in terms of size, especially Olivia and Denali, so I thought...these girls have it the easiest. Plus, they’re gorgeous and seem easy to paint. I guess when you assume it’s too easy, it’s actually well - let’s just say that one’s makeup was questionable, and the other was lacking a tiny purse. Unlike Denali and Olivia, Gottmik and Kandy Muse faced the hardest challenge based on their size difference. Nothing in Gottmik’s bags was going to fit her season 13 sister and they knew they were going to have to create something on the fly, and take another garment in. They were safe, but honestly - I didn’t live for Kandy’s look which...

In terms of the challenge, the judges weren’t wrong to declare Symone and Utica the winners of this week’s challenge. They embraced one another’s not only aesthetic but actually learned what they were supposed to from it. Plus, neither of them let their sister walk out there looking like a fool. Symone was engulfed in the oddities that make Utica standout, while Symone’s aura oozed out of Utica with every confident step she took. The judges had been waiting for weeks for Utica to serve fashion and tonight she did. Who didn’t fare well, most of the other girls. I will say that Rose did as best she could with what she had given Tina was her partner. This was the second time in 10 weeks that Tina’s looked okay. Rose...oh Rose, here’s where we have a case of someone letting their sister look horrendous.

Look, there were several weeks during this season where Tina Burner wore only three prominent colors for her brand. So when it came time to dress Rose like her, where the hell were the reds, yellows, and oranges? She went out looking like the blacklisted queen from season 12. It didn’t feel like Tina at all, and I feel like Tina should’ve been in the bottom two alongside Olivia since Miss Lux didn’t really put herself into Denali’s look. Which, Denali looked good - better than Olivia in my opinion, but…ya know. As for Gottmik and Kandy, I thought Gottmik looked great but I expected her to give us more of a New York City, Bronx look instead of a Harley Davidson Model. Then there’s Kandy, the makeup was good but I thought we’d see the actual Gottmik face. I was left underwhelmed with those two but agreed that they’d be rightfully safe as they were just...

Ugh, judging in pairs was such a mistake because, in the end, the wrong girl went home. Olivia and Tina should have been trying to save their ass with Mary Mary, but alas...Denali was in the bottom and despite two strong ass back-to-back top three placements - Ru sent her skating. I didn’t think Denali was going to make the top four, but I didn’t see her leaving before her makeover partner or Tina.

Next week is another acting challenge. The one where they have to sell an item, and while Utica just won a challenge, we all know she’s not the best in these situations. Even though she has all that improv to her name. Next week could either be the week she or Tina finally shines on their own, or we could be seeing them in the bottom.

Makeover Looks Ranked:

Utica: Once she got out of her head, she finally brought her runway to new heights

Symone: For as weird as it was, that headpiece was so Coachella, acid trip beautiful

Gottmik: It was a nice fit, I just wasn’t a fan of the print

Denali: She looked great but it just wasn’t Olivia Lux

Tina Burner: Rose should dress her more often

Olivia Lux: She looked like a used loofa

Rose: The face was a mess and the outfit was tragic

Kandy Muse:

Week 10 Rankings & Reasonings:

Symone - With another win under her belt, we’re heading into an acting challenge. There is no way she is going anywhere anytime soon - unless they surprise them with a sewing AND singing challenge!

Gottmik - Safe this week, but she still killed her runway and like Symone, knows how to deliver in an acting challenge

Rose - Rose being near the bottom this week was not her fault. She made over Tina the best she could, and with the acting challenge being a solo game - she has a chance to outshine her competitors

Olivia - Yes, most of the girls said her name when asked who should go home but as someone who bounces back and forth on the spectrum between bottom and top, I don’t think she’s close to leaving us quite yet

Kandy Muse - Her personality will lead her to another week on the show

Utica - One win to her name doesn't mean anything, especially when she’s gotta act next? We’ve all seen her bomb before in challenges like this so it’s going to be interesting to see if she actually grasps the concept of Drag Race humor

Tina Burner -

[justfandomwritings]

United in Fear (Part Five - Soulmate!Robb)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader; Soulmates AU

Word count: 18.4k ... Yes you read that right.

Warnings: Some people die cause its game of thrones, but nothing’s that graphic. Sibling bonding moments, lots of plot, but no actual warnings.

Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

Notes: Thank you to everyone who followed and reblogged from this story. Today marks 10k followers, and while I wasn’t waiting for that to happen, it’s great that it happened the day I finished this story.

Start From the Beginning… Part One

Previously On… Part Four

Revenge paid best when done in the service of Lannisters, and it paid even better when wrought against the King.

Tyrek, the firstborn son of Tywin’s deceased younger brother Tygett, was actually quite closely related to the central family of House Lannister, not that anyone remembered that. The Great Lion was in fact his uncle; and the Pride of the Rock, as (Y/n) had long been called, was to call Tyrek her first cousin. 

With his father a third-born son and himself proving lacking in mental abilities and physical prowess, many passed over Tyrek and regarded him as insignificant. To be sure, his family set a near impossible measure to live up to. Standing out amongst the Lannisters was only achievable for those truly great and notorious of history. 

His uncles, Tywin and Kevan, were considered masters of war and strategy and rule. His cousins were without equal: Cersei, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms; Jaime, the greatest swordsman to ever live; (Y/n), Lady of the Rock; and Lancel, squire to the King. 

There were others, to be fair, who fell short. Cleos Frey, eldest son of his aunt Gemma, was only noteworthy in how utterly unexceptional he became, and his baby brother Walder was possibly the ugliest thing to toddle the halls of Casterly Rock. Willem, Kevan’s son, may have only been a child, but he showed none of the promise and skill his twin brother. Not wanting to suffer further from association, Tyrek avoided the three at all cost. 

Even in his mediocrity, Tyrek could say he kept good, well-born company, but it wasn’t the matter that he was passed over that bothered him. It was that, as his father’s only child, he felt as though he’d failed him. 

Tywin had three perfect children and a fourth who, even as he disappointed his father, fascinated countless throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Kevan’s brood were an imperfect bunch. Lancel was strong but gullible; Willem was an unpromising one; and Janei, while kind and beautiful, was still only a babe. But where the others failed, Kevan could always look on Martyn for a dazzling performance. 

Genna similarly looked to her middle sons. Her eldest and youngest, Cleos and Walder, were Freys to their core; ugly, bruttish, and dim. They slunk around the shadows of the Rock, scared to even speak to anyone with blonde hair, including their brothers. Lyonel and Tion were Genna’s pride and joy. They looked, acted, and sounded as every Lannister should. They were by no means to par with Jaime or Cersei or (Y/n), but both showed skill and promise enough to rectify the disappoints that were their siblings.

But Tygett, dead though he may be, only had Tyrek. 

Tyrek didn’t know or remember his father, and none in the keep spoke of the man. He knew Tywin did not like him, and for that Tyrek kept his questions to a minimum. He wanted to know though; he wanted to give his long gone father a reason to praise him. And knowing that even if he earned it, he would never hear his father cheer, he sought at least Tywin and Kevan’s, for they were the closest things he had.

Tyrek felt nothing when his hand tipped and poured the contents of the small vial into the King’s wine before a hunt. He felt nothing when healers and the maester came rushing through the Red Keep demanding people make way for the King. He felt nothing when Cersei cackled at the news her husband had fallen ill. He felt nothing when the first scream of pain echoed through the walls of the tower, and he felt nothing when they finally, three days later, heard the last. He felt nothing when Jaime came to tell the Lannisters that the King was dead. 

And, waiting at the gates of King’s Landing for Robert’s funeral procession to begin, he wasn’t sure he felt anything now. 

“You did well, Tyrek,” (Y/n) whispered, resting on his shoulder what would appear to any outsider to be a comforting hand. 

Tyrek looked up at (Y/n), not physically but emotionally. His hopeful eyes screamed for guidance. “You’re pleased? Lord Tywin will be pleased?”

“Yes,” (Y/n) rubbed his shoulder before letting her hand drop to her side. “We owe you a debt, and I promise it will be paid in full.” 

Tyrek smiled as (Y/n) walked away.

Maybe he was a worthy Lannister, because the prospect of being paid by some means filled him with more happiness than the murder had guilt.

(Y/n) left her cousin alone in the streets, trekking back up to the Red Keep with her head hung in a sign of mourning. 

The funeral had brought to mind something (Y/n) had long wondered. 

Robert Baratheon was dead, and in all the crowds it seemed only Tommen shed a tear. Cersei celebrated behind closed doors; Joffrey relished his new found power; Myrcella had always been fearful of her father for the way he treated Cersei; Renly was finally out of his brother’s shadow; and Stannis hadn’t even bothered to come to King’s Landing.

(Y/n) wondered, when she was gone, who would mourn her. Would Tyrion cry for her or rejoice at finally being treated as an heir? Would Jaime even notice her absence when his vision was so clouded with his twin? Would Tywin care that his daughter passed, or would he only care that he’d lost his right hand?

She knew better than to ask after Cersei. Loyal perhaps, but the sisters had no love lost. 

Robb. 

Robb would cry for her, would notice her absence, would care that she had passed. She had that over the King; she had Robb. 

Even Ned Stark, loyal, faithful Ned Stark, Robert’s oldest and only friend, didn’t mourn the man. He stayed locked in his tower, supposedly preparing the coronation of the new King.

Of course, (Y/n) knew better than to believe that. Ned Stark was, after all, a terrible liar.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Enter,” a voice called from inside the study.

(Y/n) walked past the Northern guard opening the door with a nod and a smile. 

Ned sat at a wide oak desk in the bay of an otherwise empty room. The Hand of the King had an official study for business, a grand bedecked thing nearer the quarters of the King. 

This, however, was a personal one. Two studies were not a luxury any Northman, even the Warden of the North, was used to. It seemed Ned did not know how to fill the space and had opted instead to not even try.

(Y/n) motioned for the guard to shut the door as she analyzed the contents, or lack thereof, in the room. “It is rather different than my father kept it.”

Ned leapt from his desk, hand reaching for the sword balanced against his chair back. He had been expecting his meal at this time, but the voice that spoke had caught him entirely unaware in a city where even the slightest lapse in attention meant death.

“Forgive my interruption,” (Y/n) halfheartedly placated. 

Ned took a moment, assessing there was no physical threat in the room, only a moment though as the lack of furniture made it clear (Y/n) was the only other occupant of the room. He replied slowly, cautiously removing his hand from the hilt of his blade. “I don’t believe you were born long enough ago to remember your father’s time as Hand.”

(Y/n) ambled around the perimeter of the room, trailing a hand over the walls. “I was not, but as you recall my father might as well have been king for most of Aerys’ reign. Painters loved to depict my father. There are countless portraits of him stored in the vaults of the Rock. A couple of him on the Iron Throne, a few in front of the Keep, plenty in the library or the Hand’s study, but my favorite portrait of him was in this room.”

“There were Lannister banners on the walls then.” She reached the desk and flattened a palm against the wood. “But he put his desk here as well. The light from the window, I presume.”

“It is why I chose the spot.” Ned stepped back towards the door, putting a few paces of distance between himself and (Y/n) Lannister.

Lannister. She was, despite her wedding, still a Lannister. Ned wished it weren’t so, or at least he wished to forget it were. 

Catelyn had given him his children who were his absolute joy. She stood by him and helped him with every decision he made. She cared for his people and his home. She vowed herself, gave herself, to him knowing she was not his mate. Ned loved his wife. He would not trade her for anything in the Seven Kingdoms, but Ashara was no longer in the Seven Kingdoms. 

Her daughter caused Ned great confusion and pain. A beauty that rivaled her mother, a mind which rivaled her father. He looked on her and saw his lost love; he listened to her speak and heard his mortal enemy.

She spoke from her core, and her core was Lannister. No matter the face which hid it. 

Without even a cursory glance in his direction, (Y/n) slipped into the chair Ned had vacated. The post weighed heavily on Ned’s mind at all hours of the day and night, but the seat seemed to mold around (Y/n) Lannister as if it were her own. As though the space had always been hers to occupy. As though the room was hers and he was the one merely a guest. 

“Lord Stark,” She crossed her arms over her chest with a weary smile, the sort of smile that would be comforting in any city but King’s Landing. “I’ve come to speak to you today about a whisper I heard.” 

Ned went instantly on guard. “I don’t employ spies. If you want to speak of rumors, I would be happy to escort you to Lord Varys’.” 

“I share your aversion to those who pay others to listen in on their fellow man, Lord Stark,” (Y/n) dismissed handily, “I assure you; what I’ve heard was not bought by myself or any other. It was offered and taken freely. I don’t deal in spies, nor do I deal in rumors.” (Y/n) picked at her fingernails as though the matter were as casual as her morning meal. “Rumors are usually lies, and no one is fool enough to lie to me. Whispers are another matter. Whispers are the truths no one wishes to speak.”

“And what whispers have you heard that concern me?” Ned pried warily.

“Whispers of visits to the less desirable end of King’s Landing, whispers of trips to one of Lord Baelish’s establishments, whispers of inquiries at a number of bastard’s homes in Flea Bottom.” 

Ned’s blood ran cold, and (Y/n) seemed to sense it even though his face remained as emotionless as ever. 

(Y/n) lifted her eyes to Lord Stark but did not divert any meaningful attention to him. “You see, the rumors say you’re looking for another of your bastards, or visiting Jon Snow’s mother, or looking to take a new mistress. I have no time for such slander.” 

“Then what do you have time for, Lady Lannister?” 

(Y/n) turned her head to Ned’s desk top, directing his eyes to the large book weighing down his papers: The History of House Baratheon. “I have time for a warning, Lord Stark.”

“A warning?” 

(Y/n) wasn’t a fool. She knew that by giving him a warning Ned Stark would connect her, or more likely her family, to his inquiries. That is, if he hadn’t already. Starks had a way of blaming Lannisters for every crime committed in the Seven Kingdoms and most of the crimes committed outside of them. That they were right to place the blame there was irrelevant. That they couldn’t fathom Lannister’s may have a purpose for such perceived injustices was of far greater concern to (Y/n) now.  

“Stop.”

Ned paused. “That is all?” He was rather expecting more than one word. 

“Stop this?” (Y/n) shrugged nonchalantly. “I admit. I don’t know how else to say it.” 

“You want me to stop prying into the death of my ally and mentor, Jon Arryn, and you expect me to do so without cause, simply because you asked?” 

“Ah!” (Y/n) exclaimed. “This is our misunderstanding.” (Y/n) leaned forward, elbows to her knees and looked up at Ned. Her face, for a moment, lost any and all resemblance it held with Ashara. It was as though Tywin Lannister had entered the room. His essence pooled in her eyes and and seeped through her skin as if by some magic the old man had possessed her though only for an instant. “I am not asking.”

Ned braced. His hand itched for his sword, not that he would ever dare use it on this woman of all people, for any number of reasons. He sought merely the comfort of having his weapon; he felt as though he were in a battle entirely unarmed. 

“Your sister had the Hand of the King murdered in cold blood. You don’t deny this, and you expect me to look the other way.” Ned accused.

(Y/n) leaned back in her chair exasperated. “I deny it entirely!” 

How daft was this man. To call her family out so blatantly without all the facts before him. He was no master of the game; she knew that. She hadn’t expected him to be on par with Baelish or Varys, but it seemed he wasn’t even on par with the lessers, such as her siblings or Pycelle. Even Tommen knew better than to confront anyone in King’s Landing, especially her, in such a way.

“You deny your family is capable of such treachery? I find that difficult to believe.”

“I denied no such thing. Your family and mine are different out of the necessity of our survival. Your family is capable of a great many things mine is not, as the reverse is also true.” (Y/n) bit back. “I did not deny my family was capable of such a thing. I denied, specifically, that my sister, your Queen whom you should refer to her with more respect, murdered Jon Arryn.”

Ned contemplated, for a moment, the poor woman before him. A woman who genuinely believed her words, who believed death a necessity for survival. “If not your family, then who? He was my oldest friend. I will not let this pass.”

“There was a time you would have called King Robert your oldest friend, yet you do not seek justice for him now.” (Y/n) pointed out, much to Ned’s discomfort. “You know your king to have been poisoned, and you let every suspect of the crime walk free from this city. Why?”

“Robert,” Ned hesistated. He looked out the opening above his desk, for no other reason than to avoid (Y/n)’s knowing gaze. “I know the reason for his death; we both do. I imagine I also know who did the deed and how it was done. Nothing there need be questioned, and I find the reason to be one which my heart simply cannot see fit to judge. Robert was not the man I once knew.” 

“And you know Jon Arryn to be the same man how?” (Y/n) asked. “You say he was your oldest friend, a title you remove from Robert in recent days. A title you would not have dreamed remove from Robert before you saw what he’d become. How then, having not seen Jon Arryn for just as long as the late King, can you lay the honor at his feet?” 

Ned marched forward to Jon Arryn’s defense, grabbing up the straining spine of the book and forcing its pages into (Y/n)’s face. “Because I know why he was killed, and no man deserves to die for doing his duty to his people. Your sister should not go unpunished for his death.”

“Again,” (Y/n) sighed, “my sister did not kill Jon Arryn.”

“And how do you know?” Ned turned the questioning on her.

“Because that deed I did myself.”

For that, Ned had no response. 

The tone of the conversation took a turn. Argument and resistance died in the air. Objection froze on the tongue. 

Ned Stark found he was well and truly struck dumb. 

Ned Stark had fallen at the first hurdle, a lesson (Y/n) had known even as a child: Never ask a question unless you already know its answer. 

With her revelation, it seemed as if (Y/n) did, in fact, own the room.

“I imagine you have already correctly deduced why I felt it need be done. Regardless of your actions, I won’t kill you as I did him, Lord Stark. I promise you that. Though, I cannot and will not promise your safety if you continue with this line of inquiry. You walk a dangerous path down which another has already died, and it is a path you walk very much alone. You have no allies in this city, only the liability of your daughters.”

“If you touch my children,” Ned began.

“I have no intention to draw the siblings of my mate into any frey,” (Y/n) waved off his growl. “Your daughters are no concern of mine, but I cannot say the same of my counterparts. Baelish is seen to be quite regularly in Sansa’s presence, and Varys has eyes on Arya almost constantly. I mention your daughters to remind you that they are here. Because judging by your actions, you seem to have forgotten. Whatever you do,” (Y/n) slammed her hand down on the book Ned had set aside on the table, “will affect them directly. 

“If you see through your quest for vengeance, your life and theirs will be at the mercy of my sister. If you are arrested for the treason you are plotting to commit, it will be my heartless nephew who decides their fate.” (Y/n) rose to her feet, forcing Ned back a step as they stood toe-to-toe. “Lord Stark, if you continue, the best ending that could possibly come from this would be for you to be branded a traitor and thrown in prison. The best ending for your daughters is to be given to my care at the Rock as honored guests unable to see their family ever again. And we both know what the worst outcome would entail.” 

Ned had much to think on that seemed to prevent him speaking. He did not want to reply with an ill-thought response to such a direct accusation of danger, but (Y/n) had clearly come prepared for whatever he might think to say. 

“Lord Stark,” (Y/n) sighed, resigned to maintaining the conversation alone, “I admire your sense of justice for your friends, but there comes a time to think of oneself, or at least one’s children. You will, I have no doubt, take this as intimidation, think I am attempting to block the honorable way. You believe you are doing the right thing, and I am here to tell you that you are. You’re doing the right thing for Jon Arryn and for your conscience, but make no mistake that the pair of you are the only two who will be served well by this course. It is the right thing for your guilt and for a deadman, not for the rest of Westeros.

“I mean, Stannis? As King? Make no mistake. Despite their personalities, Stannis is every bit Robert’s brother. The only thing Robert had in his favor was charm, and Stannis even lacks that.” (Y/n) scoffed at the idea of the morose, elder Baratheon sitting atop the Iron Throne. 

“So,” Ned’s voice was as low as his eyes, looking at the floor. “You admit Joffrey is not the true King.” 

(Y/n) paused, hesitating for only a moment, but it was enough for Ned to realize his words were to some degree correct. “Joffrey may not be the rightful King, but I believe he is the right one. Joffrey, as you’ve seen, would be no one’s first choice, but his undisputed reign, however brief, guarantees peace. What you propose leads to war and death and destruction from which no one benefits. Peace is what the Seven Kingdoms need.”

Ned wasn’t sure he intended to follow it, but he found he did want the young woman’s advice. “What, then, would you have me do?”

“Wait.” (Y/n) plainly stated. “A few months at the most. Joffrey will find some small slight, some matter of policy or gold which you’ve done in a way which he disapproves. He will ask you to return your pin as Hand. Do it without question. My sister will not attempt to enforce any contract for Sansa’s hand without Robert alive, and you will be free to journey with your children home. Take your daughters, and return to Winterfell where you belong.” 

“And who would take my place?” Ned already knew the answer.

“My father, of course.” 

Ned sat back on the edge of his desk with a heavy sigh, thinking that they had finally reached the true purpose of this conversation. “That is why you come to me then, to make way for your father. To ensure you do live to see him at this desk, in this room.” Ned motioned toward the window, the damned light at which their conversation had began. “It would give you control of the Rock sooner.”

(Y/n) smiled, a genuine, amused thing. “You are, I daresay, the first and only man in the Seven who has ever questioned my loyalty to my father. Knowing, as you do, what I’ve given up for him, I imagined you wiser than to do so. Even if it were as you say, and I assure you it is not, I am none so foolish as to go behind my father’s back to take control of the Westerlands.”

“Then what do you gain from this?” Ned asked, “I have been in King’s Landing long enough to know that even the most trustworthy people gain something from their loyalty.” 

(Y/n) shrugged. This was, by no means, the revelation to her that it clearly was to Ned Stark “Perhaps that is true, perhaps I am gaining something from all of this. Or perhaps, for once, it might be possible for you to believe that someone without the last name Stark is capable of doing the right thing.” 

There was a long quiet between the two in which (Y/n) leaned back and wrapped her hands over her stomach, looking thoughtfully out the window. 

When Ned spoke again, it was a whisper. “Lady (Y/n), are you with child?”

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(Y/n) was heavy with child, too heavy for only a few months. The Maester had whispered words with her father in the hall after looking in on her. 

“More than one.”

“Worried.”

“Large.”

“Like Joanna.” 

The last should have scared her, but (Y/n) had no time for such worries. 

There were greater moves being made than those of her body.

Namely, those of Catelyn Stark.

(Y/n) stormed down the hall, as much as she could at her size. 

Her eyes were red, with tears or rage, one could not be sure, but she looked every bit a woman ready to kill. She was every bit a woman ready to kill.

The Mountain, ever stationed outside her father’s study, stepped aside as she approached. 

(Y/n) shoved open the door, not bothering to allow it to close behind.

Let the Mountain hear. Let the Rock hear. Let the whole of the Westerlands and Westeros hear what she had to say.

Her husband, Harwyn, was stationed inside the open door. 

The most useless guard in existence. The most useless man in existence. He thought himself worthy because he got her with child in their single torrid night together. He thought he had earned the Lannister’s respect. He was wrong, not that he’d realized that yet. He was nothing more than a hulking mass of flesh, and he had foolishly served his entire purpose to a family who did not consider him one of their own.

As the lesser brother of House Lannister looked up, Kevan jumped to his feet to free the chair in front of his brother’s desk for (Y/n).

“Have you seen this?” (Y/n) growled, ignoring the gesture. Her voice was dark, cold as she brandished a scroll in her left fist. 

Tywin lifted an eyebrow. His daughter was not prone to exaggerations, of any kind. Even in her pregnancy, emotions did not vex her. She was far too disciplined for such outbursts of rage. “I presume not, as I’ve had no cause for anger today.” 

(Y/n) tossed the crumbled paper onto her father’s desk, but her hand remained clenched in its fists as if it was looking for something, anything to squeeze the life out of, “Word from Jaime.”

Tywin smoothed out the paper, and Kevan forgot his attempts to get (Y/n) to sit. He circled the wood to look over the older lord’s shoulder at the message. 

It was minutes, several long agonizing minutes, before her father finally looked up from the single sentence scratched into the paper. His head rose at a pace that was agonizing in its slowness, but when his gaze finally met his daughter’s it was that of a lion rearing back its’ head to strike. 

“Can we confirm this?” His tone mirrored his daughter’s low voice.

(Y/n) gave a single nod. “It was accompanied by word from the Riverlands.”

Gracefully, like a predator stalking its prey, Tywin pushed to his feet, sending Kevan back a step in his wake. “Brother,” Tywin’s eyes didn’t leave his daughter’s. “Call the banners.”

Harwyn stepped from his shadowy corner, “For what purpose, my Lord?” 

Tywin turned his deadly gaze on his new son, and even the proud knight seemed to shrink back inside of the barrell that made up his chest. “Catelyn Stark has accused Tyrion of the murder of Bran Stark and kidnapped him on his return to us.”

(Y/n) took the chance to sum up her father’s thoughts in three words. “This is war.”

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“Open,” The order came from somewhere near the back of the procession, and the guards at the top of the stairs each took a handle and pulled the doors wide.

The creaking brought a hush to the crowded room beyond who had not been expecting interruption. The chatter that had been present slowly died away as the newcomer joined their ranks.

“My deepest apologies for being late,” (Y/n) called out, slipping seamlessly to fill the quiet as if she did not know or care that her presence was a shockingly unwelcome surprise. With a grand flourish of her hands, (Y/n) waved to all of the room in greeting. “I do hope I am not interrupting.”

Silence. A long, empty silence.

Then, from the center a hearty chuckle. 

(Y/n) stepped under the middle archway and greeted Tyrion’s relieved smile with her usual smirk. 

“Brother,” she gave only a curt nod in acknowledgment before turning to meet the more distinguished guests on their platform.

Lady Arryn rose from her seat to stand beside her sister with a wide-eyed expression that could only be managed by someone subject to her particular kind of lunacy. “Who gave you the right to enter my home?”

“I gave myself the right,” (Y/n) meandered along, circling the edge of the room, a show of her indifference to Lysa’s power as much as it was a show of her own confidence. 

The Eyrie truly was a dreadful place. The mountains helped; they were beautiful, like a painting out of every window. But the keep was something more reminiscent of Harrenhal. Dim, cold, giving the appearance that it was haunted by its former patriarch. 

(Y/n) rather hoped the hall wasn’t haunted by Jon Arryn. She doubted he would take kindly to her presence. Not that she believed in spirits of any kind.

“You have no business here!” Lysa roared, taking a step dangerously close to the ledge over which she sat.

“On the contrary,” (Y/n) wandered over to the nearest bench and, with a glowering look, sent the lesser ladies occupying the seat scurrying away, “He,” she pointed to Tyrion as she settled in, “is my business.” 

“You cannot pay your way out of this. Your brother has already called for his trial by combat,” Lady Catelyn’s voice was steadier than her sister’s but by no means more inviting.

“Excellent,” (Y/n) clapped her hands, “Then he saves me the step of demanding one.” 

“What cause have you for wanting such a thing?” Lysa’s nose turned up at the prospect, an unpleasant look for an unpleasant woman. It made her already large nose look even more like a beak. 

“I have brought my brother’s champion.” (Y/n) snapped twice, a definitive sound that echoed off the chamber walls. “I’m sure you recall my husband, Lord Harwyn.”

The doors creaked open once more.

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(Y/n) would be wrong if she tried to claim that she wasn’t proud of the bloody shoe prints that trailed her as Harwyn escorted her up the small flight of stairs. 

There was something terribly Lannister about leaving the blood of her enemies in her wake, feeling their life draining out under her feet. 

“I believe,” (Y/n) let go of Harwyn’s steadying grasp as she reached the top of the overlook, “that my husband has won the day, and the trial, in my brother’s name.” 

Lysa looked on the red at (Y/n)’s heels and snarled out with a venom, “Take your brother and go.” 

(Y/n) bowed her head. In her advanced state, she could bow little else without toppling over. “Thank you, Lady Arryn.” 

(Y/n) sidestepped a guard to stand at Catelyn’s side and leaned in as if she were embracing the older woman.

Catelyn stiffened as (Y/n)’s arms came up to rest upon her shoulders, and every body in the room tensed for action, listening intently for provocation by either side.

(Y/n) pressed her lips against Catelyn’s ear and spoke in a voice so low that even with no other noise and an echoey, stone chamber not a word carried to any others present. 

“You think your son’s name on my arm will protect you from my wrath, and yet my name on his arm is not good enough to protect my brother.” (Y/n)’s hands gripped tighter to Catelyn’s dress. Her nails cut through the fabric and stung Catelyn’s skin. “Make no mistake. This will be your only warning. I care for my family just as deeply as you do for yours, and I will not tolerate such insolence again. The next time you touch one of my brothers, no Stark will leave alive.” 

Catelyn’s eyes stared straight ahead when (Y/n) turned and retreated back over the deadman’s blood. The steps up and down smeared into one another and became indistinguishable trail. 

Like the train of her crimson wedding cloak, the blood red stain followed her out the door and into the snow. 

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“Where are we going?” Tyrion occupied the seat across from her in the carriage. 

Normally, he would have ridden on horseback, but that was dominantly for the sake of expectation. 

His ‘brother’ Harwyn was outside, riding with the guard. Usually, the only recusal from joining the rest of the men would have been for all of the highborn lords and ladies to take refuge in the carriage. As it were, Tyrion was showing a great deal of disrespect to their traveling companions.

Though, he imagined Harwyn would say nothing and most of the low-born swords would not take it as the slight it was. They would assume that Tyrion’s height had made him in some way lesser to them and that this was merely him showing his weakness.

Neither, of course, was true. Tyrion could ride well enough with his saddle to keep up, and despite his imprisonment he felt more than fine to ride. 

There were, however, more important things than keeping up appearances to nameless, faceless, meaningless soldiers. 

“You won’t make it back to the Rock in this state,” Tyrion gestured to hulking mass that had become of his sister’s belly. 

“No, I won’t.” (Y/n) shifted her hands beneath the protrusion to lift some of the weight off of her aching back. “We’re heading to the Twins. Aunt Genna is waiting for us there.”

“And from there?” Tyrion asked.  

Trying desperately to find a comfortable seat, (Y/n) huffed and shifted her waist yet again. “Genna has business to attend with House Frey. She will accompany me home when I am well, and her deed is done.”

“And me?” 

“I believe Father has asked after you.”

Tyrion let his head thunk back against the wall behind him. “Joy,” he grumbled.

(Y/n) smiled, “No need to fear, brother. I believe it is a posting.” 

Tyrion let the words hang for a moment before switching the conversation. There was no elegant way to put it, but it needed to be said. “Thank you, (Y/n). I know Father sent you, no doubt. But thank you.” 

(Y/n) let her head lull to one side so as to look on her brother at eye level. 

Their family was not one for emotion. Cersei was too cruel to feel any, save those of a mother for her child. Jaime kept his locked deep inside, only sharing them on the rare occasion he was truly at someone’s mercy. Tyrion was rarely sober enough to remember what he was feeling, not that he felt safe enough to divulge them when there wasn’t a drink in his hand. (Y/n) hid her own under the cold, calculating mask of Tywin Lannister. 

It was a truly unique and rare occasion for any of the siblings, particularly (Y/n), to show what they were feeling. But on those rare occasions (Y/n) set her mask aside, it was only for her brothers. 

“Tyrion, Father did not order me after you. I was the one to tell him I was coming.”

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“The Pride of the Rock,” Tyrion tossed the Maester’s letter on the table in front of his sister. “How much of that is embellishment to win your favor?” 

(Y/n) glanced up at her brother through her lashes. Even when it was out from under her watchful eye, her hand did not cease its elegant arcs over the paper before her, crafting what Tyrion was sure was an equally elegant response. 

Tyrion could recall (Y/n)’s birth the same way Jaime often recalled his own. 

‘You came into this world shouting, and you haven’t shut up since.’ Jaime used to say to his younger brother.

Tyrion, only a boy himself at the time, had been in the hall when his younger sister entered the world. He’d sat on the floor worrying his bottom lip as he waited for the Maester to come out with the final news. 

When Ashara’s cries had finally quieted down, Tyrion had expected a baby’s wail. All experience and knowledge he had on the subject had led him to believe his sibling would cry with their first breath of air. He fretted that something had gone horribly wrong when no sound came from the room, save the Maester’s shuffling feet. 

Maester Orland waddled out of the bedchamber with a bundle of cloth in his arms, outstretched from his body with a disagreeable face. 

‘A girl, I’m afraid,’ the Maester shoved the child at the young Tyrion. ‘Normal and healthy, at least. I must see to Ashara. Take her to your father. He will no doubt be displeased.’ 

The baby was rather large for Tyrion to hold, but he cradled her to his chest with all the care in the world. 

Tyrion had been the first person in the world to hold little (Y/n). Even before their father, even before her mother, even before Jaime, and long before Cersei. It was, therefore, with some certainty that Tyrion could say (Y/n) was not molded into Tywin’s ideal. (Y/n) was born perfect. 

For sure, Genna had to teach her to write in the beautiful script that now lettered the paper in front of her, but everything which made her (Y/n) was ingrained in her from her beginning. 

The entire walk from Ashara’s chambers to Tywin’s library she had stared up at Tyrion with the same silent, judgmental look that colored her face even to the present.

(Y/n) was thoroughly unamused, but after so many years in her company Tyrion was used to her cold mask. He knew that, while identical to his father’s, her hardened expressions were at least occasionally capable of hiding amusement or cracking into a smile. Tyrion had made an art of telling exactly when and how her lips would finally pull up at the corners. 

“Dear brother,” (Y/n)’s eyebrow rose nearly as high as her incredulous tone, “you think anyone would dare deceive me, even for the sake of flattery.”

“No,” Tyrion broke from his reminiscing. “I certainly don’t.” 

“Then let us presume it is as the maester says.” (Y/n) set aside her work and leaned back in the chair, resting her hands over her ever larger stomach. “What will this mean?”

“Why it means…” Tyrion wasn’t sure he wanted to say, but under (Y/n)’s watchful, waiting gaze he knew he had to speak. She was looking at him expectantly; she knew what was to come. “Sister, you cannot mean to do this. If we lose you…”

“If you lose me, you mean,” (Y/n) corrected with a tilt to her lip that was as close as she ever came to a smile away from the Rock. “Brother,” (Y/n) reached out a hand, and Tyrion found himself meeting her halfway. “I did not leave you with Catelyn Stark. I won’t leave you with our family either. You are one of us, and Father raised me to protect my own, even if we have different understandings of what is ours.”

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Given (Y/n)’s condition, the Lannister trio of Tyrion, (Y/n), and Genna were held months at the Twins. As (Y/n)’s belly swelled, so did the tension of the Kingdoms. Until finally, at once, both burst. 

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(Y/n) panted for breath, gasping in lung full after lung full. She felt like a sailor drowning in the Sunset Sea. Every gulp eased her pain, but only for the moment it came in.

“Where” Gasp. “Is” Gasp. “My” Gasp. “Brother”.

The Maester pressed a cold, wet cloth to her forehead, trying to stem the sweat that was pouring out of her as the hours drug on. “No men are allowed in the birthing chamber. Only your mother and the midwives.”

With the next roar of pain, (Y/n) grabbed the old man by the neck of his robe and wrenched his face down over hers. “Bring. Me. Tyrion.” 

Despite the maester’s feeble protests, a midwife ran from the room and came back with the shorter Lannister on her heels.

Tyrion held (Y/n)’s hand through hours of screams. His fingers went numb from her clutches while her voice went hoarse with cries. His ears stung at the volume of the noise, and his head ached from the pain of listening so closely. His mouth was dry; his stomach was empty. He smelled of sweat and blood, like the room around them. 

But not once did Tyrion move. Not once did he complain. 

This was how his mother died. This was how (Y/n)’s mother died. This was how he caused his mother’s death. This was how (Y/n) caused her mother’s death.

He hadn’t been there for his mother, nor (Y/n) for hers. 

Joanna and Ashara had died screaming and alone. They had died in the arms of a strange old man they did not know. They had died lying in the same birthing bed. They had died bringing their last children into the world. They had died… 

They had died. 

Tyrion refused to let that happen to her. 

But from her screams, from her pain, from her tears, it was plain that (Y/n) was dying now. 

The first child came easy. A bald, beautiful baby boy. He was small in size though not sharing Tyrion’s condition. The babe was placed in Genna’s arms and ushered quickly from the room. 

The second, not as much. The girl boasted a near full head of Lannister blonde hair, and her screams nearly matched her mother’s in furiocity as she entered the world. 

It was then, as a nursing maid bundled the child away to join Genna and the other outside, that the Maester looked up from under his sister’s skirts. Tyrion could see the color drain from the old man’s face as he held up three fingers. “There’s another.”

No one ever survived a third. The only time Tyrion had ever heard of such a thing happening to nobility had been the Goodbrothers in the Iron Islands, tales of three boys born the size of sailors who practically tore their mother apart to enter the world. They said the woman died bloodied. They said she would’ve died screaming if she’d had lungs left to breath. No one in House Goodbrother had ever bothered to refute the tale, the monstrous sons she’d birthed even bragged of their feat. 

Tyrion held (Y/n)’s hand, and with the next pains, he cried with her. 

Tyrion could not lose his sister this same way, could not let another child into this family without a mother’s love. He could not bare a nephew as rejected and broken as himself, could not bare a niece as masked and guarded as (Y/n). 

Tywin hated Tyrion for killing the only woman he loved, and he would hate this child for killing the daughter that finally replaced her. 

“(Y/n),” Tyrion brushed away the hair plastered to his sister’s face. It was the first time, the only time, he had seen her looking anything less than perfect, and he’d never loved her more. “Sister, mine, your children need you now. Bring their sibling into this world, so they can meet you.”

Her voice had long turned from cries to rasping groans, but with her brother’s words, (Y/n) managed one last shout, pushing the baby from her as she collapsed onto the bed. 

The Maester handed the bloody mound of crying flesh to Tyrion and shoved him from the room. 

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The scream that ripped through the air around the Twins was a blood-curdling one. It filtered out through the windows of the upper chambers and fell down upon the ears of the men surrounding the keep.

“It sounds as if there is a woman being tortured in there.”

“It’s the Twins. I would not be surprised to hear anything of Walder Frey.” 

Just as the rest of the men were humming their agreement, their liege lord’s voice called out, “Ah, men too young to know the call. That’s no torture, boys. That’s the screams of a woman in birth.”

Robb Stark glanced over his shoulder on hearing the booming voice of his closest advisor, Lord Umber. “One of his wives or one of his daughters?” Robb joked back, wandering over to join the fray. 

Greatjon slapped a hand on the Stark’s shoulder. “Perhaps a woman who’s both.”

The group of soldiers guffawed. 

Robb’s eyes trailed over the keep. He knew there was no way to tell which window the sound came from, but when the next scream pierced the air, he felt an urge coming over him to go and find its source.

Shaking his head, Robb turned and backed away from the group of men, returning to talk with his mother over her mission with Lord Walder.

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Later, a bard writing of the day would call it a miracle. The Triplets at the Twins. 

And later still, when the name on (Y/n)’s arm and the name on Robb’s had passed into legend, they would say it was the gods themselves who came down and touched (Y/n)’s life that day. They would say the gods could not bare the injustice of her dying so close, but so far, from her mate. 

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On orders, an army of Northerners had been allowed to pass into the Riverlands. War had finally begun. 

The fighting was vicious and bloody. At the incredibly slow pace she would have to set given her condition, there was no sure way for (Y/n) to find passage to the Rock. (Y/n) spent a whole month alone at the Twins with only the company of ugly Frey girls and dimwitted Frey boys on hand to entertain her. They didn’t even have a library, the Freys. 

It was dull, dreadfully dull.  

Tywin had called for Tyrion the moment word had reached him that his daughter had survived her ordeal. Sympathy was in short supply in wartime, and Tywin was saving what little he had for souls weaker than his daughter. He knew (Y/n) would be fine.

Aunt Genna, her task done, was similarly ordered back to the Rock. (Y/n) had sent her children along with her. 

The Twins had never fallen, but (Y/n) was not willing to take that chance. The Rock was the only place she knew they would be safe, the only place where all eyes watching were on their side. It was only with the greatest care, and a few dead spies, that (Y/n) herself had not been found in Walder Frey’s home. She was not about to risk her family, her children, in that way for nothing more than company.

For once in her life, (Y/n) admitted that she needed time to heal, that she was in a state that was of no use to her father or her family. 

It spoke to how low she was, how near death she had been, that when she could finally walk again the first place she had asked to go was the house of a landed knight serving under Walder Frey, several leagues down the road. There, in his garden, was a small, rather puny weirwood tree, the only one for a day’s ride in any direction.

(Y/n) hobbled out alone and, away from the Frey’s prying eyes, threw herself at the base of the tree.

“I never believed in the new gods. I am not certain I believe in the old ones either. Still, a lack of faith in you is far better than a disbelief of them.” With slow, shuddering breath, (Y/n) removed herself from where she was wrapped around the tree and knelt before it. “Because right now, I desperately need someone to pray to.”

And so she sat there, for hours, talking to a tree.

And when she rose, she felt better for it. Not that it was something she would ever admit.

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Whatever peace (Y/n) found lasted as long as it took to ride back to the Twins. 

On her return, it took only the news presented her to decide: if this was what she got for praying to the old gods, then they could go in the trash heap where she’d shoved the new.

“A message from your father, delivered by hand,” Lord Walder held out the paper, seal facing her. “If it says anything like his letter to me, I imagine you will be leaving us soon.”

“Jaime captured. Harwyn dead. Return with the Mountain.” 

As if she needed the last sentence. 

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There were few moments in Robb Stark’s life that he could look back on with some certainty and know that his father would be ashamed of him, but that moment Lord Umber pulled him into the trees was certainly one.

“Is this the man?” Lord Umber asked, gesturing to the knight pinned to his knees by three of the Greatjon’s sons. 

Robb studied the figure carefully; though, he did not need to. He would know it anywhere. It was the man that haunted his dreams, cursed his nightmares. It was the body he imagined when he hacked training poles to bits, when he sent soldiers hurtling to the ground in sparring matches, when racked an arrow and aimed for the target. 

It was his enemy. More than Joffrey would ever be. 

“None of us have met him, but we gather you were at the wedding and would be able to pick out the man. He could prove a valuable prisoner, not so much as the Kingslayer but enough to be worth keeping.” The Greatjon explained, without realizing that Robb was not listening.

“So?” one of the sons holding him down asked Robb. “Is it Harwyn Plumm?”

Robb crouched on the balls of his feet, slowly lowering himself to the level of the man’s face. 

The Umber holding Harwyn’s left arm clutched at his hair and wrenched his head up to look Robb dead in the eye. 

“Hello Harwyn,” Robb sneered. 

Harwyn snarled between his teeth but did not dare to look away from the Northman. 

“You look different from the last time I saw you.” A cruel observation that Robb made with a slight thrill. 

A fresh, bloody gash had sliced across the man’s left eye sometime during the battle. The dirt and grime of war camps mingled with the fresh blood in a sticky sludge that covered the lower half of his face.

His brutish features looked even more severe, even more dangerous, even more menacing. Harwyn Plumm, truly a force, or at least he used to be.

Robb pushed himself to his feet and placed a hand to the hilt of his sword.

“I won’t be making it to your prison,” Harwyn croaked out a response to Lord Umber though he did not, for a moment, abandon his staring match with Robb.

“No,” Robb agreed. “You won’t.” 

Robb unsheathed his sword. “I do hope your wife will forgive me.” 

To the rest of the group, to those unaware, it sounded like a cruel joke made at the expense of an enemy during his final breaths. Robb and Harwyn were alone in their knowledge that the plea was sincere.

With a whistle as it cut the air, Robb’s blade came down on Harwyn’s neck.

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No one shed tears for Harwyn Plumm. No one mourned his loss. No one worried over what the gods had in store for him. No one pleaded for the chance to lay his body to rest. No one demanded vengeance for his life.

Harwyn Plumm’s death was lost in the much bolder news permeating the letter. 

Every pound of her horse’s hooves felt like it was drumming out the words to a beat as (Y/n) rode.

Jaime captured. Jaime captured. Jaime captured.

Harwyn was an afterthought. 

“Perhaps I should thank him. At least Robb cleaned up one mess for us,” (Y/n) grumbled to the Mountain as he helped her mount her horse. 

And that was the only time any word of Harwyn’s death left his wife’s lips before her mind was back to the more important matter at hand.

Jaime captured. Jaime captured. Jaime captured.

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“Your mate,” Tywin threw the letter onto the pile of papers between him and his daughter, “is demanding Northern independence.”

“My mate is a fool.” (Y/n) dismissed. “He’s a soldier, not a King.”

“They’ve named him their King,” Kevan pointed out.

“Just because he says it doesn’t make it so.” 

“He didn’t say it,” Kevan argued, leaning into the confrontation, “his men did. That is a true King.” 

Tywin gave a humm of passive agreement. For a moment (Y/n) thought she saw a hint of respect, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

(Y/n) shrugged as she slouched back in her chair. For once, she thought that her two companions were rather missing the point. “Robb’s men declared him King, but so did Robert’s men. Robert held the title, but it does not mean he did the deed. Jon Arryn ran Westeros for decades. Ran it into the ground,” she quickly stipulated, “but ran it nonetheless. Robb will be the same as his namesake, only he won’t even have the meager might of Jon Arryn to guide the way. He knows the North. He knows Winterfell, but he was raised to fight and to lead, not to rule. Put the man in front of a trade agreement, and he will be as lost as we would be north of the Wall. Give the man a crown, and he will forget where he put it down by the next moon.”

(Y/n), Uncle Kevan, and Tywin were the only three in the war tent. The Mountain and one of Harwyn’s elder brother guarded the door, but neither of them was close enough to hear the conversation inside over the bustling of preparations. 

Probably for the best. 

“His title doesn’t matter.” Tywin waved the matter away. “If he believes himself King, then we will fight him like a King.”

“And what of Jaime then?” (Y/n) uncrossed her legs and pressed forward in her chair. 

“We will find a way.” Tywin paused for a moment before carefully changing his words, “you will find a way.” 

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Jaime Lannister lay in the mud covering the floor of his cell, trying unsuccessfully to find a quiet enough moment to get some rest. 

His body was weak, growing weaker by the day. With his arms tied to a pole behind his back, they had gone completely unused since he arrived in the Stark camp. He could feel the strength in his sword hand beginning to go, and while the skill would never leave him he knew he would need more than his memory when he managed to find his way back to the battlefield. 

Reconstructing his cell at this new encampment, Stark put Jaime near the center of tents. Every noise from the slop of meals to the passing of midnight guards went right by his enclosure, and every man made it a point to kick a toe full of dirt at him, just in case he was asleep.

Late afternoon, just after the sun had set, was the only time he could find some peace. Robb Stark’s men were all taking evening meals, and his lords and advisors were in his tent planning their next attack on Tywin Lannister.

They acted like Jaime didn’t know this. One of them, the great buffoon that was Lord Umber, even taunted Jaime with their plans, daring him to guess where they were going, teasing what he would do when they finally caught the Great Lion.

As if Jaime didn’t know where they were. He was no Tyrion, but Jaime wasn’t entirely stupid. The height of the hills had been rising by the day. The depths of the valleys in which they slept had become rockier every night. 

Jaime had spent his entire childhood running around the Rock. As he grew, he traveled with the guard putting down rebellions and imprisoning thieves. He squired for Lord Crakehall and befriended House Marbrand. Jaime was the son of Tywin Lannister. He was born to be lord of the Westerlands, and he would recognize his homelands anywhere. 

By his best estimates, they were two days north of the Golden Tooth. The rolling hills were slowly growing higher, but it would not be until the other side of Ashemark that they would become the mountains of the Rock.

The hills were certainly slowing down the party, but Jaime imagined the mountains would draw them to a standstill. The Northmen were used to flat plains of ice. They could handle cold better than anyone. The occasional snow falls left them entirely unphased, but the rise and fall of the land was causing many of them difficulties that Jaime couldn’t help but find amusing. 

The night prior, two young soldiers who’d been stationed as his guard had gotten sick from the changing heights. Jaime knew many a remedy for such illness, but he let the men be. The stench of their sickness invaded his cell, but he was happy to endure it. Given the placement of his cell and guards which Lord Stark had so kindly given him, the rest of the camp was forced to suffer with him. 

Even now, with no rain to wash away the debris, the contents of the men’s stomach were left to bake in the sun then freeze in the night. 

Jaime buried his face in his hair to hide from the stench. His hair wasn’t much better. It had been far too long since he bathed; he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be clean.

Nothing though, not his hair, not his post, not the mud, could sufficiently hide from the noise. The squelch of boots hitting sludge and the smack as their owner pulled them from where they stuck. The swish of a cloak was muffled as it dragged along the ground, the weight of the debris it picked up burdening its movement. Then, unexpectedly, the clank of a chain being removed.

Jaime looked up to see his cell being unlocked by the dim light of a torch. 

“The King in the North!” Jaime jeered in delight as Robb Stark entered his prison. “I keep expecting you to leave me at one castle or another for safekeeping, but you drag me along from camp to camp. Have you grown fond of me Stark? Is that it? I’ve never seen you with a girl.” 

Jaime leaned in, as much as his chains could bear and spoke in a conspiratorial tone, “Or perhaps it’s not me you’re fond of; perhaps it is a girl? Can’t have the girl you want, so you keep me around as the next best thing? I must admit (Y/n) and I both have stunningly good looks.” 

Robb’s jaw visibly clenched, and Jaime couldn’t bite back his smile at getting under the little lord’s skin. His sister would, no doubt, be unappreciative of being dragged into his little spats with her mate, but Jaime doubted there was much else he could say that would rattle the young Stark. Stark was, after all, dumb enough to think he was winning.

“If I left you with one of my bannermen,” Robb spoke in as cold and emotionless a voice as he could manage to use addressing a man like the Kingslayer, “your father would know within a fortnight. My bannermen would receive a raven with a message: ‘Release my son, and you’ll be rich beyond your dreams. Refuse, and your house will be destroyed, root and stem’.” 

Even as Robb spoke, Jaime was shaking his head. “You don’t trust the loyalty of the men following you into battle.” 

In truth, Jaime never trusted his men, but Jaime was a Lannister. Lannisters never trusted anyone. The Starks, the North, claimed to be made of more honorable, more loyal stuff than him. 

“I trust my men with my life. Just not with yours.”  

If Jaime had absolutely anything to do during his capture, he wouldn’t have been quite so bored out of his mind, and if he wasn’t quite so bored out of his mind, he wouldn’t have been paying attention so acutely to Robb Stark, the only interesting thing to happen to him in days. If he hadn’t been paying such close attention, he might have missed the way the corner of Robb’s mouth lifted only slightly.

“Sounds like something my sister would say.” The way Robb’s eyebrow rose told Jaime all he needed to know on the matter. “Smart woman, my sister. You’re a smart boy to learn from her.” 

The small smile on Robb’s face slowly leaked away.

“What’s wrong?” Jaime tilted to one side, curiously. “Don’t like being called boy?” Jaimed added a mocking pout, “Insulted?”

Robb Stark’s eyes trailed to something behind Jaime, and Jaime was, for a moment, confused until he heard a rustling from the trees. There was a stamp of something that sounded like a hoof followed by a low, deep growl. Jaime tried to look over his shoulder, but his restraints kept him in place. 

“You insult yourself Kingslayer,” Robb took on a smooth affect, somewhere between Jaime’s mocking words and his sister’s unshakeable superiority. 

Jaime could pretend he was listening to Robb, but it would have been a lie beyond his capabilities as a heavy panting drew closer to his back and began to circle the cage. 

“You’ve been defeated by a boy. You’re held captive by a boy.” 

The animal responsible for the rigidity in Jaime’s back finally came into view, in the light of a distant torch: a massive, monstrous wolf.

“Perhaps, you’ll be killed by a boy.” 

The beast, because it was no simple wolf, circled his cell like it was circling its next meal. Jaime subconsciously drew his legs into him as the thing entered the door, taking every inch left in the front of his cell to stand at its master’s side. 

“Stannis Baratheon sent ravens to all the high lords of Westeros.” 

Jaime couldn’t, wouldn’t, take his eyes off the creature before him, but Robb Stark certainly had his ear now. 

“That King Joffrey Baratheon is neither a true king, nor a true Baratheon. He’s your bastard son.” 

Jaime took a chance in removing his eyes from the direwolf to glare down Robb Stark. “Well if that’s true Stannis is the rightful king, how convenient for him,” Jaime felt like he was educating a child on politics, pointing out such obvious things. 

“My father learned the truth,” Robb ignored Jaime’s words to continue his tale, “that’s why you had him executed.”

The wolf huffed, drawing Jaime back to him. “I was your prisoner when Ned Stark lost his head.” 

“Your son,” the Stark’s growl matched his wolf’s, “killed him, so the world wouldn’t learn who fathered him, and you pushed my brother from a window because he saw you with the Queen.” Robb’s chin lifted into the air. 

It was a look Jaime knew well. It was a look he saw on his sisters’ faces, on Tyrion’s face every day. The look of confidence that came only with the absolute certainty one was right. He’d thought only Lannisters’ were capable of looking so smug, but it seemed what Starks lacked in pride they made up in self-righteousness.

“You have proof? Or do you want to trade gossip like a couple of fishwives?” 

“I’m sending one of your cousins down to King’s Landing with my peace terms.” 

Last Jaime had heard Cersei and Tyrion were the only Lannisters in King’s Landing, and neither of them had the power to accept or proffer peace with the claimed King in the North. There were only two Lannisters who could offer such a thing, and he was sure of where one of them was.

“King’s Landing you say?” Jaime’s lips lifted far more slowly than they were used to, but they eventually found their usual shape. He looked up at Robb Stark with a cocky smirk, impressively maintained in face of the threat of the wolf. “You should be sending them to the Rock.”

“And why would I do anything you suggest Kingslayer?” Robb asked, tensing his hand in the fur of his wolf to hold the creature back.

“Because, Lannister I may be, but you are breathing down the Rock while Baratheons threatens the Crownlands. My father might well want me alive, but our home and the Crown are as important as my head if not more.”

Robb gave a half-hearted laugh at the thought. “I’m supposed to believe your father would leave you to die in my hands because he’s too busy to be bothered?”

“Hardly,” Jaime waved the idea away with a jerk of his head. Even the uneasiness of the wolf at Robb’s side couldn’t shake the grin from his face. “He won’t let me die, but he won’t come for me himself by any means. Sending word to him is useless.

“Surely your mother warned you.” Jaime pulled at the irons holding him back and brought himself as close to Robb as he dared with a wild wolf baring down on him. He lowered his voice to a whisper so that any passing guards wouldn’t hear what he was saying to their king, “He’ll send my sister.” 

A shiver, quite visibly, ran down Robb Stark’s spine. 

“And something tells me you have far more to fear from her than my father could ever threaten you with.”

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Tywin sniffed the dart. He was fairly certain of the poison, but the smell was confirmation enough. “Wolfsbane, a rare substance. This is no common assassin.”

“We hanged twenty men last night.” The man by the door stated bluntly. Clegane, the Mountain, not that Tywin ever called him such. Tywin did not glorify his men, too often they took it as placement above himself.

“I don’t care if you hanged a hundred. A man tried to kill me. I want his name, and I want his head.” As if killing twenty indiscriminate prisoners would satisfy Tywin’s anger. Whoever had done this had gotten their hands on Wolfsbane, an expensive poison usually only found in the cellars of men like Tywin himself. The man was an expert, not likely to be found amongst the commonfolk, and not likely to be caught so easily.

Gregor had the nerve to speak again, “We think it was an infiltrator from the Brotherhood Without Banners.”

Tywin did not think it likely that such a mangey bunch would have the means to get their hands on Wolfsbane, but it was as likely as any other explanation. “A pretentious name for a band of outlaws. We can’t allow rebels behind our lines to harass us with impunity. We look like fools, and they look like heroes. That’s how kings fall. I want them dead.” Tywin crossed the room to confront his man as his cupbearer laid the table. “Every one,” he emphasized.

“Killing them isn’t the problem. It’s finding them.” 

“You gone soft Clegane? I always thought you had a talent for violence.” He prodded. “Burn the villages. Burn the farms. Let them know what it means to choose the wrong side.” 

Clegane took his dismissal with a rumble of agreement.

Turning back to his table, Tywin thumbed over the dart. It did not take a genius, though Tywin thought himself one, to piece together that the hit had not been meant for him. 

No one in the Seven would ever mistake Tywin Lannister for a fool like Amory Lorch. By age, by banner, by name, and by appearance, the two men differed in every way. Even the most commonplace of assassination attempts would not have actively chosen the wrong target.

It left him to conclude that either the man had missed Tywin and struck Lorch by mistake or Lorch had been the target all along. Had the assassin not used wolfsbane, Tywin would have believed the former. As it were, only someone who had been paid very well could use that particular poison, and no one would pay someone so well unless they were a master. A master who would not miss.

The far greater question, for Tywin, was why someone would kill Amory Lorch with a far greater target so close by.

“Pity I’ll have to replace him on my war council,” Tywin mused to himself, stuffing the dart away in his pockets to consider later.

“Will it be another soldier, my lord?” His cupbearer had been gaining confidence in recent days, since he allowed her to ask after his father. She asked menial questions quite regularly at meals.

“No,” Tywin paced around the edge of the table. “I don’t believe it will be. I have just the person in mind.”

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As she rode into the yard, nearly all movement ceased. Men slowly edged their way back against the walls, and those few who were on matters to urgent to halt, immediately dropped their heads and quickened their pace.

“Take him to the stable,” (Y/n) tossed her horse’s reins to a guard who’d dared to continue his rounds in her presence.

“Yes, My Lady,” the man quickly dropped his task and ushered the stallion away.

“You,” (Y/n) grabbed the tunic of a passing smith, “Where has my father set his war room?”

The boy, because he was certainly not old enough to be a man despite his height, looked on (Y/n) apprehensively. “Up the third flight of stairs. Somewhere on the East side. I-I do not know the room exactly.”

(Y/n) dropped his clothes and let the boy scurry off, “Good enough.”

Striding away, (Y/n) found the hall in question with relative ease. It was, after all, hard to miss Gregor Clegane. “Mountain,” She called to the man standing guard, “Is my father in?”

 “Alone with the cupbearer.” 

(Y/n) waved away the Mountain’s attempts to announce her and opened the door as silently as possible. She slipped between the crack and leaned her back against the wood to ensure it didn’t make a sound.

The cupbearer was clearling plates on the side table, dumping scraps into a bucket that was no doubt to be made into slop. Consistent scratching of a knife grating food off metal surfaces was the only sound in the room.

Tywin was sat at the head of the table, papers and maps splayed out over the entire length. His hand was furiously scratching out a letter, and (Y/n) had a feeling she knew its intended recipient.

“No need to write to me so hastily,” (Y/n) called out, “I’ve already arrived.”

The cupbearer in the corner jumped at the sound but made no move to turn.

Tywin did no such thing. The elder Lannister slammed his hand down on the table with a force. “An assassin has made it into our camp.”

(Y/n) shrugged, slinking towards the chair on his right hand side. “Assassins find their way into every camp. If you didn’t mind their use, you could have the head cut off the Stag in a fortnight.” 

“The Stag is the least of my concerns,” Tywin motioned for (Y/n) to take the chair. “What with the Wolf breathing down our door.” 

(Y/n) opted not to take the seat, instead leaning against the tall back of the chair. Since the death of Amory Lorch, she had been riding day and night on the back of a horse. (Y/n) felt like she never wanted to sit again, or at least she didn’t want to sit till her body learned to stand straight once more. 

“Visenya Targaryen expressed her gratitude that Loren the Last rode out to meet the Targaryen forces on the Field of Fire.” Visenya was something of a hero of (Y/n)’s. 

Her father had never particularly cared for the stories. He studied the Targaryens for battle strategies, for a better understanding of the threat of dragons, and for an appreciation of legacy. The finer details of drama behind the scenes were of no consequence to him. (Y/n) picked them up entirely from Tyrion and his books.

“Visenya was certain that Casterly Rock was the only keep in Westeros which could withstand Targaryen forces, even dragons. So certain, in fact, that she told her brother not to unleash any flame, for fear that the fire would prove the Rock could not burn down.” (Y/n) always loved to tell a story. Stories were a far more entertaining way to earn attention than shouting, though she was certainly capable of both. “Robb Stark has proven himself a capable general, but I think even you would agree he’s not Aegon the Conqueror.”

“True enough,” Tywin waved her story off with a wayward comment, but (Y/n) could tell he’d put the tale away for safe keeping. “Still, we’ve underestimated him for too long.”

“That,” (Y/n) sighed, picking up an empty wine cup with a morose expression, “sadly, appears to be the case.”

“Girl!” Tywin absentmindedly snapped his fingers, “wine for my daughter.”

(Y/n) didn’t bother to look on the girl who was filling her cup, choosing instead to continue her address. “Then let us estimate him. Robb Stark hasn’t organized with Stannis Baratheon. The North tried to approach Renly first, and Stannis is far too narrow-minded a man to take his brother’s former allies. He’ll see them as traitors already. But, if Robb Stark is at all worth his salt, and he’s certainly proven he is, then he’ll know the best time to attack us is when Stannis makes his run on King’s Landing.”

“He needs time to organize that.” Tywin retorted. 

He didn’t disagree, not at all in fact. However, after years of trusting only his daughter and his siblings, Tywin and (Y/n) had developed a system of strategizing. Parrying thoughts back and forth, trying to find the weakness in each other’s words seemed to be their best recourse, a recourse the two could only pursue with each other. 

“Jaime thought the same about the ambush. He thought the Northman didn’t have enough time or men, and they proved him wrong on both counts.” 

“And sacrificed a swath of his army in the process.” 

“A swath of his army that won him Jaime Lannister.” (Y/n) downed her wine in one gulp. “It may have been a sizeable chunk of his forces, but it was more than worth it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would,” Tywin conceded, “Though how he has enough to attack the Rock after that would be anyone’s guess.”

(Y/n) gave a nonchalant huff, “He’s won every battle he’s ever fought, and he’s won them with fewer men every time. If I were Robb Stark, with no army between me and the greatest castle in Westeros, I would take a shot. For him, the worst case is that he’s repelled with minimal loss. The best case, he takes the seat of House Lannister.” 

Tywin paused the to-and-fro to think. “More wine,” He mumbled to the girl, leaning his elbows to the table to press the tips of his fingers to his lips. 

“The pitcher’s empty, my lord. I’ll go fetch more.”

That. Voice.

(Y/n)’s head jerked around with a fury, only catching sight of a head of short brown hair and a small, childish figure. Nothing more than a girl’s back, impossible to distinguish. And yet that voice.

“Think on what I said,” (Y/n) barely registered what she was doing as she moved, unthinkingly, towards the servants’ exit. “I’ll return.” 

She knew that voice.

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(Y/n) scoured the halls, scoured the keep, scoured the grounds, scoured the ruins. 

It had only been a sentence, but in that moment she’d been so sure. She knew that voice. 

“I don’t care what the rules are! It has to be her!” 

There it was, around the corner.

(Y/n) had been searching for an hour, maybe more, through the sprawling wreck of Harrenhal, and finally there it was again. Behind the rubble of what was once a guest chamber at the other end of the grounds. (Y/n) bent her head around the corner to find the girl again, back to her, angrily shouting at a Lannister soldier who was lounging lackadaisically against the waist high, overturned remains of a wall.  

“A girl knows not what she asks.” 

“I know full well what I ask! I name her!” 

(Y/n) didn’t know what this was, didn’t know who this was. But she was certain whatever it was wasn’t good and couldn’t wait for help. “Judging by your tone, I’m going to assume I am the ‘her’ in question.”

The girl whipped around in shock and confirmed (Y/n)’s suspicions.

“Hello, Arya.” A cool smile tugged at her lips as she watched the young girl’s face turn to horror. “It’s been too long. I must say this is the last place I expected to run into you.”

Arya turned on the man again, “Her! (Y/n) Lannister! I name her.”

“Name me?” (Y/n) strode across what remained of the room to join the pair. 

“A girl names a woman, but that is not a woman’s only name.” 

“Plumm then,” Arya was clearly panicking now. Her fists tugged on the man’s arm desperately. “Whatever her name. Her!” She pointed at (Y/n).

“A girl gives a man a name, but a name with a pair.” The soldier returned without any sense of care in the world. 

His accent was foreign. He certainly wasn’t from the Westerlands, or Westeros for that matter; Essos no doubt. As far as she knew, and she knew a great deal, her father had no supplement sellswords in the field, not yet anyway. Tywin Lannister only used sellswords as a last resort. Which meant there were only two ways for him to come by his armor: to be such a rich tradesmen that he could afford a life in the Westerlands which seemed unlikely given she did not know him or to have stolen the uniform from a dead man. And there was only one reason any man not forced into a war would willingly join its frontlines for a lord that was not his liege.

Assassins. 

Assassins from Essos, who spoke in tongues.

Lurching forward, (Y/n) grabbed Arya by the arm and yanked the young girl behind her back. “Faceless,” she snarled the word, stepped away from the stranger. 

The red haired man gave a small grin in return to the word. “A woman protects a girl, yet a girl wants a woman dead.” He reclined back against the half-melted stones as if the conversation was nothing more than his own amusement. 

“What?” 

“A girl,” the Faceless motioned to Arya, “owes a name, and a girl names a woman.” 

(Y/n)’s blood ran cold. “A name with a pair,” She whispered. 

It wasn’t often that she found herself afraid, but then it wasn’t often that (Y/n) faced a genuine threat of death. Most people wanted her and her father dead, but (Y/n) lived her life knowing, with absolute certainty, that she was among the few people in Westeros who were simply too valuable to kill. Yet here were a man, and a girl, who didn’t care. 

It was like being back in the birthing bed all over again, facing a death that didn’t care what her name was. 

But that wasn’t what worried her. 

(Y/n) had only read of the Faceless, never met one, never met one that she knew of anyway. 

Tyrion had given her a book of stories about them once. Of course, it was only legends; no Faceless had consulted its author on their origins. But she remembered one story in particular. 

(Y/n) whirled on Arya and sunk to her knees, clutching the girl’s arm in a vice grip. “Unname me.” She demanded.

“No!” Arya tried to slip her arm from (Y/n)’s grip, but it was far too tight. “Never!” 

“To name one is to name both! Unname me!” (Y/n) shouted. 

The legend was a tearful story of a man who found his mate, already married to another man, but the lesson was straight forward. The Many Faced God of Braavos was nothing more or less than Death. Mates came into the world to live and breath together as one, and worshipping Death the Faceless saw to it that mates, those who had joined hands and felt the mark, left the world as one. 

“A woman speaks the truth.” The Faceless said behind her. 

“One is both?” Arya looked exasperated as she twisted her arm back and forth, rubbing her wrist raw against (Y/n)’s palm.

“To kill me is to kill my mate.” (Y/n) elaborated, clenching hard to drive the point home. 

“Good! Let him die! Better than living with you!” Arya flipped her hand over and dug her nails into (Y/n)’s forearm, tearing at what she could reach.

(Y/n) let her go, but not from the pain. The attack barely reached her mind as (Y/n) wrenched up the sleeve of her dress, tearing it along the seam in her haste to reveal her mark. 

“This is my mate!” (Y/n) caught Arya by the hair and forced the girl to level her eyes with the name scarred into (Y/n)’s arm. 

There, as plain as the day it had appeared, was the name Stark, scratched eternally into (Y/n)’s skin. 

“No,” Arya stared at the word in utter disbelief. 

How could she not know? How could her mother and father have let that happen? Which of her siblings was cursed with a Lannister for a mate? Why had the old gods done this to them? 

“You want to help your brother?” (Y/n) spoke the words slowly, enunciating each for Arya’s ears. “If you kill me, you’ll be killing Robb.”

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The Faceless Man allowed (Y/n) to escort him through the halls of the keep. 

“A girl gave a man a new name,” The Faceless told her. 

It came out almost as reassurance, but (Y/n) knew the assassin wouldn’t bother with such a thing. “Am I allowed to ask?” 

“No,” The Faceless answered. “It is why a man must leave. A boy is far from here.”

Joffrey. He was the only boy Arya could want dead.

(Y/n) tried to find it in her to warn someone, anyone, but she couldn’t. Blood or not, he proved he was no worthy Lannister anyhow. Let the bastard die for all the trouble he caused.  

The pair moving through Harrenhal looked like nothing more than a soldier and his lady meandering towards the edge of the keep. With (Y/n) Lannister at his side, the Faceless was stopped by no one to perform the duties of his soldier’s armor. 

Men of all sorts gave the pair a wide berth as they made their way through the halls of the keep. No one had the bravery to question what their lady could be doing with a commonplace soldier.

“The men fear a woman,” the Faceless observed as another soldier stood attention against the wall until the pair had passed.

“They’re right to,” (Y/n) agreed with the observation. There was no amount of emotion to her voice. (Y/n) took a great deal of pride in her power, but there was very little power in striking fear in the hearts of lesser men. 

The Faceless watched her with attentive eyes. They were the eyes of a man built to kill. The eyes were the only thing the Faceless could never change. When their victims looked in them, they were looking in the eyes of a killer. “The men do not know a woman bares an enemy’s name.” He observed without question.

“No, they don’t.” 

“Why is a woman here?” The Faceless asked. “A woman usually joins a man when two share a name.” 

(Y/n) bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue. This was no man to insult. “A woman wishes she could.” 

“A woman could be with a man if she wanted.”

(Y/n) let loose a derisive snort. She and Robb had had the same conversation long ago. “We both want, but what we want and what could be are two different things.” 

“A woman could be with a man if she wanted.” The Faceless repeated.

“A man could be with a woman if he wanted,” (Y/n) countered in the Faceless’ own phrasing. 

The Faceless shook his head and looked over at her, staring until (Y/n) finally turned to meet his knowing look. “A woman is smart,” he complimented slyly. “If a woman wanted, she could find a way.”

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The Wolf’s pack is growing smaller. He will take a bitch to make his pups for men to bare his arms. See to it that, at the wedding, he gets the new blood he deserves.

“Leave us.”

(Y/n) sat at the opposite end of the long oak table, staring down her father with empty eyes that none in the room could read, even the Lord of House Lannister. Her nails picked absently at the edges of the letter. Even as the men sitting at the sides of the table began getting up and filing past her end, she did not divert her eyes from the sharp crease forming in her father’s forehead.

Tywin, similarly, did not watch the men, even as they eyed him anxiously. They were waiting for him to make some move to stop them from complying with his daughter’s demand, but none came.

(Y/n) whispered as the door thudded shut behind her after Lord Roland Crakehall, the last man to trail out of the room. “You’re sending my mate to the slaughter.” 

“That was always where this ended, (Y/n).” Tywin spoke with a tone that bordered on an empathy (Y/n) knew her father was not capable of.

“Then let’s find a better way.” 

Tywin lifted an eyebrow, a skepticism he had never felt towards her slowly forming in the pit of his stomach. “There is no better ending.” He declared flatly, “This is how his story ends. This is how Robb Stark dies.” 

“If he dies,” She said each word carefully, emphasizing each syllable as it left her tongue, “it is because you chose it to be so.” 

Tywin snorted. “Is that concern in your voice? So what if I order the Wolf’s head at my feet?” Tywin set his palms flat on the table and pushed out of his chair. He leaned down over his daughter with an authority he usually reserved for defiant enemies. “He dies. This is no discussion.”

“Father, I understand, but…”

“Then that is enough of this,” Tywin cut her off. “You object, but you know it’s the right course.”

(Y/n) didn’t want to, but she knew it was the only way. “Father, this is my mate who’s murder we plot.” 

“What of it?” Tywin was growing suspicious now. This was not their usual discourse. This was not his daughter advising him. This was his daughter defying him. For the first time.

Through the two decades of her life, Tywin and (Y/n) had stood, not side by side but back to back. They faced threats the other could not see, protected one another from what was coming up behind, watched blind spots in each other’s vision. They were two voices with one mind, but now the cracks, or rather the one crack, began to show. They shared everything but a soul, and it was a soul which would divide them.

And so it began. The fight, their fight, the only fight neither of them wanted, yet the only fight neither of them could lose.

“He is my mate. Mine!” (Y/n) ground out between her teeth. “Whether you like his name or not.”

“His name?” Tywin spat. “This is nothing about his name. This is about our name. House Lannister, or had you forgotten what name you carved into his arm.”

“Had you forgotten what name he carved into mine!” (Y/n) wore the dress she’d chased down Arya in, and the rip along the lining of her sleeve made it easy to turn and display the mark to her father. “I am his, and he is mine. No matter who my vows were spoken to, nothing can change that.” 

“That,” Tywin pointed down at the mark, not baring to look at it, “is the name of our enemy.”

(Y/n)’s fist came down on the table as she shot to her feet with all the rage she’d ever managed to muster, “You would brand me, me, your enemy!” 

“I did not brand you!” Tywin rolled his eyes away from her outburst, “That was his doing.” 

“Neither of us chose this!” 

“Would you have?” Tywin took a step back towards her, crossing halfway to the table with his long stride. “Would you have chosen him?” 

(Y/n) hesitated for a moment. There were times she wished she could have chosen, desperately longed for someone she could love. Those times, however, were long past. “Yes,” she answered honestly.

“He’s a Stark! His mother kidnapped Tyrion!” Tywin bellowed.  “They declared war on our house. His father named your nephew a bastard. Their family defies your sister’s throne. Robb Stark took your husband’s head, and now he has Jaime!”

The words cut through (Y/n) and found her wincing and turning away.

“Tell me, daughter.” Tywin hissed, “What do you think your precious mate is doing to him right now? Do you think Jaime has the luxury of debating with Robb Stark whether his life will end?”

“Robb wouldn’t end Jaime’s life,” (Y/n) said it quietly but assuredly.

Tywin laughed, a harsh, cruel laugh that mocked her for saying such a thing. “And how would you know?”

(Y/n) glared up at her father with a burning passion he’d only seen once before. It was the face she made when she found out Catelyn had Tyrion, “Because he knows what I would do to him if he did.” 

“You don’t have the strength for that.”

“I have given my life for this family! I am willing to give everything for this family!” (Y/n) countered with a roar.

“Everything but Robb Stark.” 

The name broke her. The thought of what everything entailed broke her, but what hurt more was the knowledge that she was right, that Tywin Lannister was wrong. She was willing to give everything, everything including Robb Stark. She just didn’t want to.

(Y/n) slowly, hesitantly, sunk to her knees, hanging her head in shame as she uttered the one word she had been taught never to speak. “Please.” For the first time in her life, (Y/n) looked up to see her father glaring down on her, his face colored in a mixture of rage and shame. 

Tywin stepped back from his daughter in disgust. “How dare you.”

(Y/n) could feel the tears welling in her eyes and kept her head down to hide them from the judgment in Tywin’s face. “Father, I have never defied you. I will never defy you. If you tell me this is the only way, then I will fulfill your wish without question. I will deliver the order to the Boltons and the Freys myself. I will stand aside as every Stark dies. I will ride to the Twins and bring back his head and lay it at your feet, and I will say nothing of this outside of this room again for as long as I draw breath.” (Y/n) stopped only long enough to suck air back into her lungs, as if the mention of her last breath reminded her that it was coming. “But this is my mate, and I am begging you to find another way.”

“I did not raise you to be a beggar’s wife.”

“No, you did not raise me to be a beggar’s wife,” (Y/n) agreed. “You raised me to be you in all things, and this is my proof that you have finally succeeded.” Through a web of tears, (Y/n) spread her arms out wide, absolute deference, absolute submission. “I am you. Because I know the only thing you would ever beg for is Joanna back.”

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(Y/n) walked into the supposedly neutral camp under a banner of peace. Though several valleys north of the Stark camp, the tent was still thoroughly inside the boundaries of the Westerlands. The spot was, no doubt, purposefully chosen by the Northmen as a show of force. Their entire army was entrenched within Lannister territory, and (Y/n) was greeting an enemy council that was claiming her land as its own. 

There was no mistake that the men were her enemies. From the moment she entered the small circle of tents, eyes were on her and swords were drawn. 

For a banner of peace, the Northern Lords had brought a vast number of soldiers. (Y/n) brought only one. It was, granted, an impressive one.

The Mountain had become (Y/n)’s shadow. As they moved into the camp, his toes were constantly under threat of catching the backs of her heels. The hilt of his massive sword reached out so far as to occasionally brush (Y/n)’s hip with a particularly long stride. No man could surprise her from behind because there was no space between herself and Ser Gregor Clegane in which to reach her, and no man could attack her headlong for fear of the behemoth reaching around her front to draw his sword around her. With one man, she was as protected as any of the northern sons she passed with their personal guards.

The soldiers around the camp, some forty in number, whispered when she walked past. They watched from open flaps or around campfires as (Y/n) made her way to the large white tent in the center of their convoy. 

A scout beside the door saw her approach and ducked inside to announce the enemy presence. 

“Lady Plumm,” A lord to the right of opening greeted her with a snarl as she ducked through, but the aggression on his face quickly vanished when the Mountain pushed through behind her, head scraping the top of the canvas. 

“Her name is Lannister,” A thick Northern accent called from the front of the tent, “and she is our guest. We will treat her with respect.” 

(Y/n) let her eyes trail up the length of the tent, prepared for exactly what she’d find. 

Robb Stark sat at the far end of a large, rather plain table. His elbows propped on the edge of the dark wood, and his stare looked out over fingers clasped in front of his mouth. 

The room, if it could be called such a thing in a tent, was bare. Men, a great number of them, lined the walls. Some (Y/n) recognized were the heads of great houses in the Riverlands she had encountered over the years. A few she could recall from her time in Winterfell, but most were entirely unknown to her. 

Despite the size of their gathering and the scale of the table Robb Stark occupied, there were only four chairs in the room. One was directly in front of her at the far end while the other two flanked Robb at his left and right hand side. 

None of the chairs were occupied. None of those present made a move to occupy any of the seats. It seemed they were all too tense. It was like they were waiting for her to attack, even though they were the ones who brought the small army outside.

“Thank you, Lord Stark. Your courtesy is appreciated.” (Y/n) gave a shallow bow of her head in his direction.

A grumble went up from a few of the men, but only one of them spoke. An older man nearer the entryway let out a loud grunt. His head shook out thinning grey hair. Even though his beard hid his mouth, the twitch of it made it obvious the man sported a sneer. 

“That’s King Robb Stark to you.” 

(Y/n) inclined her head to look sideways at the man and, as spitefully as she could manage, said, “Are we in the North? Or do I look like common folk to you? No. This is the Westerlands, and I am a Lannister. I won’t bow to any pretender.” 

The man reached a hand for the hilt of his sword, but the Mountain beat him to it. Drawing his own nearly halfway out of its sheath before a shout went out. 

“Stop!” 

Robb Stark rose to his feet with a hand outstretched towards his enraged lord. “Put your arms down, Lord Karstark. Lady Lannister meets with us under a flag of peace, and I will not have my name marred by innocent bloodshed.” 

“Innocent?” Lord Karstark forgot his plight with the newcomer almost instantly. He stared at his King with a dumbfounded expression. “No Lannister is innocent! Her brother murdered my boy! I demand recompense.” 

(Y/n) puffed out a breath of air to avoid laughing at the irate man, “I dare say if you demand apologies from me for all my siblings have wrought, it will be a long time before I’m allowed to speak any words other than sorry.” 

A hefty man over Robb’s shoulder let out a snort, and it seemed many of the others took a cue to relieve some of their tension. Though, Lord Karstark was not among them. 

He turned on (Y/n) looking thoroughly unamused. “My son is dead at the hands of your brother.” 

If it were any other man, or rather if it weren’t a Northern Lord, (Y/n) might have tried. She could have wooed and swayed his mind and asked forgiveness and promised him his dues, but Northerners were fickle things. Their reasoning was beyond her understanding, and logic was above theirs. 

“Your son died in a war.” (Y/n) rolled her eyes, “How shocking, I’ve never heard a man to die of such a cause. Was he the first?” 

“You arrogant little,” Karstark lunged, but before he could reach her, the Mountain’s hand shot out and clasped around the elderly lord’s neck. 

His feet dangled several inches off the ground. They flailed about desperately trying to find purchase on the ground, on the Mountain, on anything within reach. It was like watching the feet of a drowning man, kicking to save his life. 

His eyes showed a terror (Y/n) was so familiar with it wasn’t even worthy of note. The panic sapped him of all conscious thought, and the logical solution of going for his sword seemed to slip his mind. His hands clutched the Mountain’s wrist, only just managing to cover its width. 

In the Mountain’s grip, Lord Karstark, Robb had called him, was much taller than (Y/n), but it didn’t feel that way for either of them. Lord Karstark felt very small. (Y/n) returned the sneer that disappeared so suddenly from Lord Karstark’s lips and spat, “Ironic that you think me arrogant when it is you who believes your son’s life was more valuable than any of your soldiers. Did you demand justice for your men your King sent to slaughter? Or only your son who died from his own negligence?” 

The room was still and silent. Every man’s hand rested on his sword, save the Mountain’s, whose dominant hand was slowly pressing in on Lord Karstark’s neck. It was as though the Northmen were expecting, waiting, possibly even hoping the Mountain would kill their friend. They longed for blood. They wanted to have reason to face down the giant, to capture the Lady of House Lannister. 

“Enough,” (Y/n)’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the hungry expression on the soldier’s faces. This was no place to die. “Drop him outside, Gregor. I believe the air will do Lord Karstark good.” 

Gregor didn’t bother to walk back. With a mighty heave, he flung Lord Karstark through the tent flap and out into the night. 

Robb’s head hung low, and his fists clenched against the top of the wood. Whether holding in rage at Lord Karstark or rage at the Mountain, (Y/n) couldn’t be sure, and despite popular belief she wasn’t arrogant enough to assume everything was about her. 

“Lord Stark, do forgive us our reaction. At the Rock, men have been beheaded for saying far lesser insults to far less important Lannisters than me. It is only our way.” 

Robb’s fists slowly unclenched as his eyes returned from the grain of the wood to the tent around him. “Lord Karstark’s actions were inexcusable. Please do not judge the rest of us on his lack of respect.” 

(Y/n) picked up her skirts and curtsied to the would-be King. “All is forgotten. Perhaps, we might move on to the matters at hand. There is much to discuss, and I would hate to be delayed.” 

“Then speak,” Robb slumped back into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s you and your father who called this meeting.” 

“Actually, I believe you’ll find it’s a great deal more than House Lannister who called this meeting.” 

(Y/n) tapped the Mountain’s arm, dropped low but still extended to cover her side. The beast drew back and finally detached himself from her heels. With two sure steps, she took the empty chair at the far end of the table from Robb. Pulling it out, (Y/n) matched the King’s posture taking the place opposite him. 

“Yes,” Robb mused, “the bastard house Baratheon created by your siblings, I presume?” A round of laughs and cheers went round the tent. If it had had walls of any kind, she imagined the sound would have echoed for years.

There laughter went on for many minutes longer than it should have, and (Y/n)’s only reaction was to stare down their King while his men cackled. Robb matched her intense gaze without a hint of humor marring his face. 

As the men slowly subdued themselves, a harsh throat clearing from the beefy one behind Robb seeming to do the trick, (Y/n) finally took it as her turn to speak.

“Robb, I’ll give you this.” (Y/n) picked at imaginary dirt under her nails. “You know how to win a war, but no Stark has ever managed to play the game,”   

A few of the men laughed again, but again Robb was not among them. This time, though, it seemed the divide was for different cause. His men seemed to thoroughly lack respect for what she was implying while Robb caught on immediately to its importance.  The King in the North shuffled up in his chair and leaned forward in his seat. “Then teach us.”

(Y/n) hummed to herself, pretending to contemplate the proposal. She already knew he would say that. She already knew how she would respond, and how they would respond in kind, and how she would respond to that. This conversation had happened a thousand different ways already in her mind, and she was prepared for all of them. Because that was how a Lannister played the game, not by throwing gold at the problem, but by knowing what the problem was before it arrived. 

“Allow me to give you a lesson in history because your maesters must have failed you all.” (Y/n) smiled. It was a courtly smile, not that any of them could recognize that. (Y/n)’s smiles were such perfectly calculated lies that she had heard even the great Littlefinger couldn’t discern their meaning. They would all assume it was cocky. They would be wrong in that assumption, but it suited (Y/n) just fine. “Who is the heir to House Frey?” 

“Stevron Frey,” The answer came from one of the lords behind her back.

(Y/n) didn’t even have to open her mouth to correct him because Robb did it for her. “Stevron died of his battle wounds last moon.” 

“As did his youngest son Walton, and Walton’s two squired sons Steffon and Bryan. May they rest in peace, truly the only Freys worth their salt.” (Y/n) clasped her hands as though to pray for their souls, but no pleas to the Stranger left her lips. “I ask again, who is the heir to House Frey?”

“Stevron had an older boy, Ryan or something,” (Y/n) recognized Lord Manderly. He was a rich man who often traded with the Lannisters, the only house in the North that worshipped the Seven.

“His name was Ryman,” (Y/n) corrected politely, “and he is long dead, just after your party crossed the Twins in fact. He was a gluttonous man, so it was expected. Still, most think it might have been poison.” 

“How convenient,” Lord Manderly mumbled under his breath.

(Y/n) chuckled, “Again, who is the heir to House Frey?” 

“Surely Ryman had sons,” (Y/n) had never met the man who spoke, but unlike many of the others he wore his banner on his chest. 

“Lord Glover, you would be correct in that assumption if it weren’t for the Brotherhood Without Banners. Horrible people, those marauders. Killed two of Ryman’s sons, Edwyn and Petyr. He only had Black Walder left, and Black Walder was dispossessed of his life on suspicion that it was he who killed his father.” 

“And none of them had children?” It was Lord Glover again.

“Only girls, and I am afraid Lord Frey doesn’t value his daughters quite so highly as my father does.”

“Emmon,” The name came quietly, under his breath, but there was no mistaking Robb’s voice or the tone of realization in it. “It falls to Emmon Frey.” 

“And who,” (Y/n) turned on him, “pray tell, is his wife?”

“Your aunt,” Robb growled, “Genna Lannister.” He was angry, angry at himself in fact; angry at himself for not realizing his mistake.

(Y/n) almost smiled, almost felt proud watching him piece it together. “The heir to House Frey is the sister of Tywin Lannister, and you plan to entreat them into helping you what? Raid Casterly Rock?” 

“You and your father orchestrated this.” Robb snarled into the air. 

“Robb, we orchestrated everything.” Robb’s eyes flashed to (Y/n) as she continued speaking. “Do you really think Walder Frey would have let you cross his bridge without me, inside, saying it was acceptable? If you had gone around the Trident, your path would’ve put you at the doorstep of the Rock, and you think we would have allowed that?”

“How much gold did you pay Walder Frey for the damage you brought to his house?” 

(Y/n) knew the voice, and she found herself only momentarily stunned that Lord Bolton would have the nerve to speak at this gathering. “Lannisters always pay their debts, but there are ways to pay debts that don’t involve gold.” 

“Like what?” Roose Bolton pressed.

Her eyes searched out Lord Bolton’s, “Every man can be bought. It’s only a matter of price. For some it’s gold, but there are other forms of payment. It might be land, titles, power, a woman.” (Y/n) drew her eyes to Robb, flitting them back and forth between him and Roose Bolton as if she were watching a joust. “Maybe for one it’s Winterfell.” 

Resting against the top of the wood, Robb’s hands slowly clenched into fists as he caught on to the rather unsubtle hints (Y/n) was giving him. 

“Leave us,” Robb ordered. “All of you.” 

“But sir, she..,”

“My King, I don’t...”

“She’s a Lannister, My King, should we...”

“Are you quite certain you want…”

“Your Grace, the Mountain…”

“Gregor,” (Y/n) barked loud enough to silence the Lords who were rapidly converging on Robb Stark to question his intent, “Leave us.”

Without hesitation, the Mountain turned and marched from the tent to take a post outside.

The Northern Lords watched the display of obedience in shock, and looking amongst themselves, slowly filed out whispering to each other as they went.

“Are you implying what I think?” Robb asked the moment the flap fluttered to a stand still over (Y/n)’s shoulder.

“I’m implying nothing,” (Y/n) got to her feet and crossed the tent, taking the seat to his immediate right, so she might speak at a more normal volume. “I am telling you.”

“The Boltons,” Robb eyed the canvas from which Roose had just made his escape.

“Have been promised Winterfell if they help the Freys slaughter you upon your arrival at the Twins, or if they switch sides in your next battle with my father and defeat your men from within.” (Y/n) explained without any hint of regret.

Robb felt almost stunned into silence.

He wouldn’t lie. He thought of (Y/n) every day and night. It was hard not to when he spent so much time plotting her beloved father’s demise, staring at her house sigil, worrying over marrying another woman, pondering his murder of her husband. 

Never though, in all his thoughts, had he considered turning on his men and joining the Lannisters for her, and he knew far better than to ask her to do anything resembling such. 

“I wish to propose a trade,” (Y/n) abruptly changed the topic, though it didn’t seem like she was avoiding it. “The Mountain leaves me here now, as we speak, he rides for a trusted keep nearby where he will retrieve your sister, Arya, in exchange for my brother, Jaime.”

Robb immediately began shaking his head. “I want my sister back as much as you want your brother, but my men will turn on me if I trade a little girl for the best sword in Westeros.” 

“There is no deal you could offer that I wouldn’t take to see Jaime safe again, Robb. If you loved your sister and wanted her back as much as I wanted him, we wouldn’t be discussing this.” 

“My men..” Robb started.

(Y/n) cut him off. “Would turn on you. So you’ve said, but as I’ve said, some of them already have.” 

“Yes,” Robb quickly jumped back on the original conversation. “Why did you tell me?”

“Because that is your future as it stands,” (Y/n) reached under the neckline of her dress and drew, from under the hem, a letter. “But it does not have to be that way.”

“What is this?” Robb took the letter from her hand and broke the Lannister seal holding it closed.

(Y/n) returned to her feet and joined Robb at his side, looking at the words over his shoulder. She’d read them before, but something about them was so unreal it needed to be seen again. “Our terms.”

The letter filled nearly four pieces of paper. It began by detailing exactly how Tywin Lannsiter intended to draw this war to a close. He detailed how alone Robb truly was: with the Eyrie neutral, House Tyrell agreeing to vows between Margery and Joffrey, Dorne’s hatred for the Lannisters and the Starks, House Frey’s loyalty to Genna, Theon Greyjoy betraying him for the Iron Islands, and Lords of his own Kingdom plotting his demise from within. 

Tywin dedicated an entire page to all of the ways Robb could lose and all of the people who would happily deliver him Robb’s head by morning, his daughter chief among them. He noted everywhere Robb had gone wrong, and exactly how he’d lost the game. 

It was page after page of ways Robb would lose, ways he would get his family killed, ways he would die. 

Then he reached the last. 

“But I owe a debt, not to you, but to my daughter; and she has named her price. After a lifetime of unwavering fealty, of unending service, of unbearable burdens, the price she named was high. It is, however, a price I feel she’s owed. There are conditions to my payment, but I believe you will find those conditions pale in comparison to the rewards that accompany them.”

“W-What does this mean?” Robb looked up, but found (Y/n) was not there standing over him. 

She was sitting in the dirt, as she had been the first day they spoke, looking up at him with tears in her eyes, and Robb felt himself slipping from his chair, without much thought, to sit beside her.

“It means that…” She hesitated for a moment before finding the words, “I don’t suppose if I turn my back on my father and my dead husband, gave up becoming the most powerful woman in Westeros, named my son heir to the Rock, left my gold and all my other lavish Southern possessions and joined you in the cold, barren North for the boring life of an incredibly traditional lady, that you would take me as your wife?”

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[mhdiaries]

Wave 2 Cleo de Nile Diary

Ninth Month 15th Day

I didn’t sleep very well last night at all. I had this dream that I was about to lead the Fear Squad onto a stage where we were supposed to perform in front of an undead JV audience with millions of monsters watching all over the world. Only when I looked back Frankie had forgotten her arms, Draculaura had a tiny bat body with her normal sized head and Deuce had turned the rest of the team into stone. He kept saying, “It’s okay we’ll take them home and they can live in the garden with the other gnomes.” Then I realized I was wearing a lunch lady outfit and my pompoms had turned into gravy ladles. Fortunately, I woke up before we had to perform. I told father about the dream and he said, “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.” Well, perhaps I should lessen that unease with more team practice.

Ninth Month 20th Day

Ghoulia yelled at me today and I must admit that it sort of hurt my feelings. She was sitting by herself in the creepateria drawing something in her notebook and I was going to ask her to sit with the rest of us. When I said her name though it startled her, and she slammed her notebook closed. Then she said, “Oh my ghoul!” “Can you please take your own notes and give me just a moment of privacy?” Then she turned her back on me and started drawing again. I think what hurt my feelings the most was not that she yelled at me but that she thought it wasn’t her company I wanted. She apologized later which I accepted, of course. I like having Ghoulia around because I absolutely trust her. I wish I could tell her that but it’s just not done. I am royalty after all… although perhaps I need to learn to make exceptions for my friends.

Tenth Month 7th Day

Spectra… leave it to her to make a mausoleum out of a molehill. I saw Deuce at the end of the school day, and he told me how everything started. He wrote a song for my upcoming birthday celebration and he wanted Operetta to put it to music and make a recording for me. Of course, there have been thousands of songs composed in my honor but this was different… anyway so Deuce goes into the band room with Operetta and starts reading her the song. Spectra floats through and misinterprets what’s going on, like she always does, and all of a sudden the whole school is in full scale gossip mode. Before I know it I’m being dumped by Deuce and getting back together with Clawd. She even had the audacity to ask me for a comment! I was so angry I shouted at her in Ancient Egyptian… probably a good thing since what I said was not exactly befitting royalty. I even cancelled Fear Squad practice because I totally couldn’t focus. I know that Clawd tracked Spectra down and tried to reason with her but that actually made things worse because if she thinks she’s being persecuted she gets even louder about what she thinks the “real” truth is. I appreciated Clawd trying to stand up for me though. He is an honorable wolf and under different circumstances maybe we’d still be together but undue speculation is something which commoners concern themselves, so I’ll stop now.

Tenth Month 12th Day

Why is it that Headless Headmistress Bloodgood wants us to dredge up the past? The last thing I want to do is write about how my family went from ruling the greatest dynasty ever to being betrayed and dethroned by people we trusted. I will not write about that because even after so many thousands of years it still hurts. What to write then? I have the ability to charm snakes – not with a stupid flute – but I can speak to them and they will do what I ask them to. It’s not something I do all the time – I mostly just use it when Hissette crawls inside a shoe I want to wear and won’t come out. No, I’ve never used it on Deuce although I have been tempted a time or two… just kidding. He likes me for who I am, why would I want to ruin that by manipulating him? I must also wear some of my wrappings at all times otherwise… well it’s not something I really wish to think about. Father also has quite a collection of amulets and charms that will work only for those in my family. Of course, they usually also come with a curse if you overuse them.

Tenth Month 16th Day

I’m beginning to think that allowing Purrsephone, Meowlody and Toralei to stay on the Fear Squad was a mistake. My sister brought them onto the team, she always was a cat person, when she was the Fear Squad captain. If they weren’t so athletic and graceful I would have kicked them off when I became captain, despite my sister’s insistence that I keep them. They definitely have their own agenda and even though on the outside they act like they are sold out for the team I do not trust them. I think if something “better” came along they would leave me up the Styx without a Charon. I even overheard them making fun of Ghoulia one day which they totally denied when I confronted them about it. I on the other hand have one agenda; making the Fear Squad the best it can be. If they get in the way of making that happen I hear Lagoona is looking for new members on the swim team.

Tenth Month 22nd Day

I got an email from Nefera today. Ugh… haven’t had that name haunting over my head since she graduated. Just writing it after so long sends chills down my spine and not in a good way either. She said that she was up for five magazine covers and a spooks model contract. She was also up on all the MH gossip and what was happening on the Fear Squad. Wonder who she’s getting all her information from… not. Of course she gave me a whole list of things I was doing wrong and what I needed to do to fix them. As the older sister she is entitled to correct me if I do anything “unbecoming to one of royal birth.” I am entitled to sit quietly and listen which I did, a lot. The Fear Squad is not about royalty though and as a past captain she is entitled to her opinion but I’m no longer entitled to sit quietly and listen. It’s my team now and even though we haven’t yet won the awards her teams did I believe that we can and will. I don’t know why she should care anyway since her email made it sound like she’s one step away from ruling the world. If I were in her place what’s happing at high school would be the last thing on my mind.

Tenth Month 25th Day

I ran into Clawdeen at the Maul today. We both came out of a dressing room wearing the same thing. I braced myself for some sarcastic comment but she just looked at me and started laughing. I don’t know why but I did as well and before long we were both sitting on the floor of the dressing room howling with laughter. We got kicked out of the store and ended up at the food corpse sharing a basket of fries. She told me that Clawd told her the real story behind our breakup and I told her that I was sorry for not being honest about the situation from the beginning. She apologized too – for not confronting me directly and getting the true tale. We hung out for a while and mocked some current fashion trends and then before we left Clawdeen stuck out her hand, “Frenemies?” she said. “Frenemies,” I said as I shook it. While it is doubtful that two “alphas” can ever be more than that, not have Clawdeen actively against me is a step in the right direction.

[ilguna]

Belamour - Chapter Four (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing, murder plot, and gallows suggests hanging herself 2 separate times

wc; 10k

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

“My skin is sore.” you complain, watching as Leo scowls a bit, clearly not liking how much you’ve suddenly begun to complain. Not a single word came from you during the waxing and scrubbing process at all.

“It’s not that bad.” Cleo tries to reason, and she’s clearly a mind reader too, “The wax earlier was the worst thing you’ll ever have to go through.”

“I think my skin is sensitive, that’s why.”

They seem to consider this for a moment. And without a single word from Beth, she rises from her chair and leaves the first room to go to the bathroom that’s attached. She’s gone for a couple of minutes, and you spend the time gently peeling off dried glue from your body. Wincing when it catches a couple of stray hairs that the team managed to miss somehow.

By the time she comes back, she’s got a yellow bottle in her hands, that you immediately recognize as the lotion that was used on your body earlier. At first, it had stung but the cooling sensation afterwards was worth it. Beth is a quick thinker, you like her.

When you’re sure that there’s no more glue, Leo sits you down in the chair and wipes your face completely free of makeup. When he moves out of the way so you can see yourself in the mirror again, your eyelids are clearly stained a light shade of green. And instead of complaining, you shrug.

Next is pulling off your clothes to trade them out for something more comfortable. And as you’re slipping off the tube top and later the skirt, the exhaustion seems to kick in. Your limbs feel heavy, and every time you lean or bend over, you’re sure you won’t be able to pick yourself back up.

With eyelids half-open, you apply a healthy lather of the lotion before pulling on a pair of knee-length grey sweatpants and tank top. Cleo slides a pair of slippers your way that is so clearly made out of real animal fur, but you can’t bring yourself to be mad at the fact they killed an innocent animal just to use their fur as a pair of shoes.

You wave your prep team goodbye, and don’t wait up on Laurel at all. Dragging your feet through the hallway, Finnick comes out of nowhere, joining your side. He seems to be in the same state as you are. The difference between you and him, is that you got a few hours of sleep in, and he got absolutely none. 

A rough night of basically no sleep, and then an emotionally and physically draining day only hours later had taken its toll on you. On your way to the elevator with Finnick, you find yourself dreaming of flopping onto the Capitol bed, wrapping yourself in the warm comforter and laying your head on that soft pillow. And hopefully falling asleep before your mind can wander.

“I’m going to sleep so good tonight.” Finnick yawns, which triggers you to yawn next. And as he goes to open his mouth a second time, you elbow him to keep a cycle going. He lets out a gentle laugh.

At the elevators stands Elysia, one hand holding them open. You and Finnick don’t bother to pick up the pace, she’s going to stay there whether she likes it or not. She has to take you back to the floor. Almost like an escort.

Finnick sighs, closing his eyes and leaning up against the glass wall of the elevator. He’s got on a white shirt and a pair of deep blue shorts, sandals on his feet. And even with a layer of clothing on, it’s obvious that he’s sweating, and it almost seems to be seeping through his shirt and onto the glass behind him.

Elysia purses her lips, and you can tell that she wants to tell him to stop leaning on it, because it’s ruining the presentation of the small room. But then her face smooths over, and she offers a small smile instead, turning back towards the doors. 

You spare one last look at Finnick, but find the glance lasting longer than you expected it to. It’s clear he’s on the brink of falling asleep upright, lips parted, wet hair sticking to his forehead. Maybe it’s not sweat that's coming from his body, maybe he took a shower instead. It would make more sense as to why his hair is like that. Before you two split to your prep teams, he was as dry as you were.

The elevator makes a noise, and his eyes open again, spinning a little as he tries to get a hold of reality again. He stumbles, trying to catch his footing, and then motions for you to go first. When you go to offer for him to lean up against you, he’s shaking his head and telling you it’s fine.

“You two don’t have to come to dinner.” Elysia tells the two of you, on the couch sits Anchor and Mags, watching a recap of the tribute parade. At your initial entrance, neither of them had paid attention or even bothered to look your way. But now at Elysia’s dismissal, they’re staring, “If you wake up hungry, the room has food service. All you have to do is order anything you want and it’ll appear. But I expect you two will be at the table bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll wake us if we aren’t?” you ask, not really caring about the food thing. You can go to bed hungry, it won’t be the first time. You’re just worried about sleeping in. Tomorrow is the first day of training, and the second time you get to see your opponents up close.

“Yes.” she says.

“Goodnight.” Finnick says, heading towards the hallway, you wave at Mags and Anchor. Anchor is the only one that raises their hand in return, saying his subtle goodnight.

You follow Finnick up the steps and into the hallway. When you go to bid him goodbye, heading towards your room, his hand catches your elbow.

“Can I stay with you?” he asks before you can say anything.

You stare for a moment, the words not processing slightly. Stay with you? Like in your room? He wants to sleep in your room?

“Like a sleepover?” you ask, watching a smile creep up and onto his face.

“I guess.” he shrugs, “It’s fine if not, I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

That’s not the reason, and you know it. It’s probably the same reason why he didn’t want to fall asleep last night; he’s afraid of being alone with his thoughts. In a whole room by yourself, on the brink of sleep fearing the worst in a couple of days, that’s going to bring on an onslaught of nightmares. 

You’ve had that happen to you a couple of times. Not with the Hunger Games just yet, but you’re sure that it’ll come one of these days. The longer you stay here, the more reality begins to set and seep into your head. Before you know it, you’re going to wake up in the middle of the night, alarmed, alert, and afraid.

And right now, Finnick is trying to prevent that from happening to him.

“Yeah, you can stay with me.” you tell him.

He gives a loopy smile, “I’ll meet you a minute, then.”

You split from Finnick now, watching as he goes into his room. You go into yours, making sure that the doors don’t lock behind you. You pull off the ring, gentle setting it into the bowl on the nightstand. Then, you sit on the edge of the bed, every fiber of you greedily begging for you to just flop over and fall asleep now without the blankets and pillows. Without waiting for Finnick to come in.

He doesn’t leave you waiting for long. He comes in with his comforter around his shoulders, and training behind him on the carpeted ground. A singular white pillow is beneath his arm as he stands in the doorway, unsure of where to go. You motion towards where the window is, since it’s not a bad place to sleep if you don’t mind the city lights at night.

“You can sleep in front of the window, if you want. It’s a good view.” you sigh, throwing the blankets open. Any moment now you’ll be able to sleep, and tomorrow morning you’ll hopefully be refreshed.

Finnick heads over, making a makeshift bed with the blanket and pillow already. He collapses into a sitting position, and stares out the window for a moment. Then, he yawns again and speaks, “You’ve got a better view than I do. You’ve got the lights, and might even be able to see the festival in a couple of days from here.”

“Festival?” you ask.

“Yeah, it happens after the interviews, since it’s the night before the actual games themselves.” he slips beneath his blanket after that, “It’s disgusting really, but what can we do?”

The answer is nothing. So, you say nothing and watch as his breathing automatically slows into even intervals, a clear giveaway that he’s fallen asleep. You stare for a couple of minutes longer, until he eventually turns over and his back is to you. Only then do you slip yourself beneath your blankets and do the same, facing away from him too.

The sleep that you were on the brink of only moments ago, seems to be fading. The late afternoon sunlight freely coming into your room is throwing you off. You’d never be going to sleep at this time. In fact, back home you’d probably still be in school going over math problems or the latest english assignment.

Or you might be heading to Naida’s house after school, fully prepared to get your homework done and thank her for her time. Then, you’d scoop up Alyssum and head home and wait until your brothers would get home. They’d have already spent hours on the water fishing, and they’d come back not even half as exhausted as you are.

You don’t think Reed and Mox missed the tribute parade at all. In fact, they might have skipped the afternoon work entirely because they wanted to see you and how the Capitol citizens would react to you. You wonder if they were disgusted by how much you’d changed. From a feeble little girl to a young woman in just a few hours.

They’d risk getting in trouble just for a glance of you, a quick check up. The next time that they’ll see you is when your score is announced by Caesar Flickerman. You hope you score fairly high on it, because it would be such a relief to Reed knowing that you should have no problem when it comes to getting sponsors.

Mags had briefly explained how training would work this morning. She said that the next three days is training with the other tributes, where the gamemakers would be supervising and taking notes. Everything that you show off or don’t inside of the Training Center will contribute to your score. 

The private training session is really so you can show off anything you didn’t want to show the other tributes. It’s a secret skill, something that you’d want to be a surprise when you go into the arena. Only they are allowed to know what it is, and what happens in that room will stay there forever.

Thinking about it now, you don’t think you’re going to have a skill for that. Everything you know is pretty generic. You suppose that you’ll be learning more things tomorrow, but it won’t be the same. Showing off a skill you've known for years versus something you learned two days ago makes a difference.

You have days to worry about that, maybe you’ll remember something along the way. Tying knots and throwing spears aren’t that impressive. Maybe if you tie a noose and hang yourself from the ceiling, it’ll catch their eye, make a statement. 

Although it’s already no secret that the tributes would rather die on their own terms, rather to the hands of another teenager. There’s been countless attempts in the past, both successful and unsuccessful. It’s the reason why there’s so many safety precautions now. To keep the tribute from dying early on and sending twenty-three in, rather than twenty-four.

To do that would mean to give up your chance to win. It would mean you’re accepting defeat without even seeing the circumstances first. Who knows? You might just end up on an island in the middle of the sea, favoring District Four. Giving your district another head start, on top of all the ones you’ve gathered already.

You’re going to win. You can feel it.

—

In the morning, Elysia kept her promise. You and Finnick hadn’t gotten up on your own, so she came in to do the job for you. It wasn’t all that bad, last night you had expected her to throw water or something onto you this morning. Really, she just knocked on the wall until one of you awoke.

It was you first. And it wasn’t even to her knocking, it was because the whoosh of the doors opening automatically. Once she made sure that you wouldn’t be going back to bed, she left.

And you still haven’t moved from the bed, even minutes later. Finnick is still asleep next to the window, blanket tucked beneath his chin. You’re going to feel awful here in a second when you have to get him up. But it’s not like you have much of a choice.

You’re sure that he’d rather you wake him up, than Elysia. So, you run a hand through your hair in a feeble attempt to tame it, and then you wander your way over to him. Standing over him is definitely creepy.

You nudge Finnick with your foot, hoping that’ll be enough. But he doesn’t even stir, so you go ahead and do it again. This time, his hand flies out from beneath the blanket and he wraps his fingers around your ankle. For a second, you think that’s it, and then he yanks and pulls you down.

He’s a lot stronger than you give him credit for. The floor disappears from beneath your feet, and you have no chance of catching yourself on the way down. Your hands smear down the window, leaving nice hand marks in your wake.

You land right on top of Finnick, who’s now giddily laughing at his joke. You roll your eyes, getting off of him and sitting back. He sits up, face red and tears gathering in his eyes. You try not to laugh, but the longer he continues, you let out a small chuckle and shove his shoulder with your foot. 

“Very funny. How long have you been awake?” 

He smiles, wiping beneath his eyes, “Since Elysia came in. I was just waiting for you to come over.”

“I was trying to be nice. I should’ve just hit you with the pillow.” You get up, stretching and heading over to the walk-in closet.

Before Elysia left, she told you that the training uniforms should already be in here. You have different options, all different variations of yellow and black. Looks like they’ve got a theme going on at the moment.

The first top is like a regular shirt, just a little modified. The collar is black and comes up to the base of your neck. The rest of the shirt is mustard yellow, and there’s a zipper on the front that leads from the bottom all the way up to the top, exactly like a jacket. It’s a cute top, you pick that one over the long-sleeved and tank top.

And the bottoms aren’t that exciting, plain black shorts or leggings that end at your calves. You pick the latter, and then scoop up the tennis shoes and the underwear too. When you come out, Finnick’s got his things gathered in his arms.

“Thanks for letting me stay in here.” He smiles.

“How was your first ever sleepover?”

“Pretty boring.” He laughs, heading out, “Hopefully the next one will be better?” He proposes, and then doesn’t wait for an answer.

If there is a next one. You go ahead and take a shower after that, paying careful attention to your eyelids to make sure that they aren’t green when you step out. After you get dressed, you pull your hair out of your face, letting a few strands stay if they don’t irritate you too much.

You debate on the ring. It would be nice to wear to make sure that it doesn’t leave your sight, ever. But on the other hand, it’s going to get in the way of learning. Maybe it’ll get caught on something, or it’ll make a lot of noise, or your finger will swell and you’ll have a hard time pulling it off later.

Then again, you don’t want it to get swiped and for someone to think that it belonged to yesterday’s costume. You were wearing a lot of water-wave related things yesterday. It wouldn’t be that far off to think it came from there.

You could very well trust it with Mags. She’ll understand. 

Once your shoes are on, you slide the ring on and decide that it won’t hurt to wear during breakfast. When you step out and into the dining room, you’re not that surprised to see that you’re the last person to come out. You utter an apology to Elysia, and take the only available seat next to Finnick.

Almost immediately, food is served to you. It’s almost the same as yesterday, nothing new. You eat it all measuredly, making sure that the rich taste won’t make you feel sick. That’s really the last thing you’d want in the Training Center, to throw up in the middle of doing something.

And as always, it looks like Finnick has got the same worries. This time, he’s not inhaling the food like it’s the last meal he’ll ever eat. You know he must be hungry, especially since the two of you skipped dinner yesterday. You know you are.

Mags doesn’t eat very much, so she’s done long before you and Finnick are. She carefully slips the napkin off of her lap and sets it into the nearest bowl, waving off the avox when they come around to give her more. Then, she turns to you and Finnick.

“Do either of you have tokens?” she asks, Anchor pauses for a moment, and then his head bobbles in approval. 

“Yes.” you say, placing the spoon back into your bowl before pulling off the ring and holding it out for her to see. She takes it from you, turning it over in her hand. 

She doesn’t give it back, and then turns to Finnick, “And you?”

His fingers dance along his arm until they land on his wrist. The same braided, brown rope is there. You vaguely remember seeing it yesterday and being surprised that they’d let him keep it. Up close, you realize that it’s not really a choice. The ends are tied together, and his hand is too big to just slip it off.

It reminds you of those bracelets that are supposed to ward off evil. Caspian’s sister owns one, and he constantly calls her superstitious because of it. He doesn’t think that it works, and every time she reaches over to it when bad things happen, he rolls his eyes. Always telling her to grow up, when she’s already out of high school.

You think it works. She graduated at the top of her class and instead of being stuck with the same old government-provided fishing job, she got hired at the sweet shop. Which of course, is placed next to the bakery, the butchers, the fabric store and finally, the ice cream parlor. All lined up and expensive.

Even though you don’t like Caspian--or maybe you do now, you don’t know--you like his sister. There had been a few times where she had caught sight of you through the window, and rushed out to give you a treat to share with your brothers and sister. You tried for a while to turn it down, but she always insisted and so you stopped struggling and instead thanked her greatly.

She, Calandra, has had good fortune ever since she started to wear the bracelet. Whether or not Caspian has realized that, you have no clue. But you have, and you think that’s why Finnick wears the bracelet. However, his luck hasn’t really been up, as of late.

“It’s just rope.” Finnick says, “I can’t take it off.”

Mags and Anchor share a look. Anchor makes a face, “All they have to do is look at it, and they’ll see that it’s not really an advantage. I’m pretty sure they can see it during the tribute parade, so we don’t have to bring him along.”

Mags nods, and then turns back to you, “Would you mind if I gave this to the gamemakers to look at for a couple of days?”

You shake your head, “I’ll get it back?”

“If it’s not dangerous.” Anchor says, “Or poses any sort of advantage.”

It’s just a silver ring. You’ll get it back.

“Yeah, you can have it.” you lean back in your seat, resuming your bowl of soup.

Mags pockets the ring, and then doesn’t waste time, going on, “Don’t show off any serious skills, save it for the private training session. You don’t want everyone to know what you’re actually good at.”

“What if the careers ask?” you lean in, “Am I just supposed to leave them hanging?”

“No.” Anchor says, and you and Finnick look over to him now, “Save at least something for the gamemakers. Don’t even share it with each other.”

You hope that won’t create issues between you and Finnick. You know Anchor is right, and he knows better than you do. But the thought of holding back even one skill to keep Finnick on edge the entire time is dangerous. You don’t want him to be anticipating something that might not even happen.

“Right.” Finnick says. You can’t tell if he’s upset or not, and you think you like it that way. You don’t need to know.

Mags excuses herself from the table, saying that she’s going to go hand off the ring, and do other things as well. It leaves just you, Elysia and Anchor at the table. Until Elysia says that you guys should meet her at the elevator no later than ten, and leaves the apartment too.

“Districts One and Two are automatically going to head towards the weapons section.” Anchor says, picking at a bagel, “And you’re going to be expected to follow.”

“Should we?” you ask.

“You already talked to them yesterday and proposed the idea of an alliance, right?”

Finnick shakes his head, “Not exactly. She said we’d see them tomorrow and that was it.”

“Did they seem interested?” Anchor asks.

You press your lips together, staring down into the empty bowl. You don’t know at all. They were definitely friendly after the tribute parade. You got Trink and Lennox to loosen up easily, and Eytelle and Allio followed stiffly. To you, it looked like they were uncomfortable with the thought of working with people younger than them.

It’s very well possible that they think you two are still naive and will find a way to fuck up tremendously, costing their lives or something. They’re worried about the wrong thing, though. You and Finnick have already proved that you’re smarter than that. You’ve analyzed them, their body types, their personalities, and you know what kind of people they are.

Maybe Allio and Eytelle didn’t seem enthusiastic, but Trink and Lennox did.

“Two of them.” you answer first, Finnick looks like he’s about to object, “District Two is still iffy. I think if we hang around them today, we’ll find a way to sell it.”

“That leaves two days to work on skills.” Finnick says.

You look at him, and then Anchor, “How does the center work? Is there a schedule?”

“You’ll go in at ten, and a few hours later will have lunch. You’ll have it all together in a room with tables, then you go back to training.”

“How about this,” you look at Finnick, “First half we spend on skills, and then at lunch we’ll sit with One and Two, and after lunch we hang out with them for the rest of the time?”

Anchor is impressed, and Finnick seems to like this idea a lot better, because he agrees to it. First half of the day will be spent learning and remembering skills, and after lunch will be getting to know the other careers better. A good bargain, you feel proud of yourself for that. 

There’s not much to talk about anymore. Both you and Finnick end up dismissing yourselves from the table about thirty minutes before ten. In your room, you fix unapproved stray hairs and brush your teeth. For the last remaining time, you sit on the bed and try not to think of home.

The time comes around where you have to leave the room. Finnick is already waiting out by the door, having a conversation with Anchor. He’s in a new change of clothes, and it looks like his hair is wet again. Before he wasn’t wearing his training outfit, now he is. While you wear yellow, he wears blue. 

When Anchor notices you, he subtly motions, letting Finnick know. With squinted eyes, you watch as they wrap up the conversation, Anchor pats Finnick on the shoulder, and then they split.

Anchor wishes you good luck. On the way out of the apartment to the elevator, you try to ask Finnick what they were talking about, but he attempts to slyly redirect you to talk about the training that’ll be happening in just a few minutes. It’s a red flag immediately, and you find yourself making note of it. 

Some part of your mind tries to cooly remind you that he doesn’t have to tell you anything, but the thought slowly fades. This is the Hunger Games, every person you befriend, every alliance you make will eventually end in distrust and murder. This is no time to be holding secrets.

You don’t push him.

Elysia is at the elevators, holding the door open. Inside, she lets you know that it’ll be a moment before you actually reach the training rooms because it’s underground. You and Finnick share a little eyebrow raise--even though you’re still pretty irritated--and wait in silence. She tells you she won’t be going inside with you and that you’ll officially be on your own, away from her, Mags, Anchor, the stylists and prep teams.

It comes as a relief. Now you won’t have so many people hovering over your shoulder while you try to figure things out.

The walk to the Training Center is short and quiet. This gives you a feeling that Finnick must know that you know something is up. Good, you hope he comes to realize you’re not stupid.

The doors to the room open automatically, revealing a gymnasium three times the size of the Four floor. And the Four floor is already bigger than your house back home. Just with the first look, you’re able to see all the stations and their accompanying trainer. There’s weapons lined up against the walls, obstacle courses in the middle. 

This is a dangerous playground.

A lot of the tributes seem to be here already, all gathered up together. On the way down with Elysia, she let you and Finnick know that the stylists are the ones picking out the outfits for everything. So, Laurel picked a muted mustard yellow color for you, Pleurisy picked a pretty baby blue for Finnick. And as for everyone else, it varies.

Before you two can join the others, you’re stopped at the doors. Just to keep a track of white tributes are from which districts, you’re required to wear a number on your back. You have a feeling that it’s for the gamemakers, who all sit up in a box on the top right. If they know who you are, they can keep track of you and why you deserve the score you’re going to get.

After you two have got District Four pinned to your back, you head on over. Instead of actually standing inside of the circle with everyone else, you stand back. Letting yourself get a good look at everyone, now. This is vital.

Trink and Lennox lean into each other, Lennox slouching to reach her height. When Trink moves away, he cracks a smile. Her eyes go over the almost-complete circle, eyes landing on you and Finnick. She smiles too, waving slightly as a greeting. Because of this, both tributes from District Three look over their shoulders.

The boy is tall, dark haired and pale. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, but the second he realizes you’re looking right back at him, they loosen into a gentle smile. He’s friendly, and the girl next to him looks like she is too. Light brown hair that’s down but out of her face. The smile reaches her eyes, and you remember how she cried on stage. She might be emotional.

You give a smile back, the girl turns back away towards the head trainer, who’s still waiting on the final tributes. However, the boy still stares, and the longer his eyes linger, the more you feel your face becoming hot. He’s older, and he’s definitely cute. When he turns away, you can feel your heart begin to beat loudly in your chest. How embarrassing.

Allio and Eytelle are standing side by side, stiff looking. Maybe that’s just how they are normally, and it was nothing against you. They do look like they take things a little more seriously than Lennox and Trink. The more you stare, the more the word ‘wary’ seems to fit their description.

There’s Finnick and you, of course. District Five seems to be missing completely, Six isn’t talking to each other at all. Seven seems to be friendly with each other, the boy has a bright smile that never seems to go away. Even when he tries, the girl will say something and he’s back to massaging his cheeks.

The girl from Eight nibbles on her nails, the boy is on the other side of the circle, away from her. The girl from Nine, and both Ten tributes are all huddled together. The boy from Nine, you have no clue. It looks like he’s missing too. Both from Eleven look nervous and Twelve is… just a pair of children. Twelve and thirteen, it looks like. They have absolutely no chance here, and they’re by far the youngest.

The doors open, making everyone look over again. In comes Six, you think, as well as the boy from Nine that you vaguely recognize. They get their numbers on the back of their shirts, and stop around the circle just like you two had.

The head trainer introduces herself now, her name is Pasithea and she’ll be overseeing everything formally. She explains the schedule in detail. At every station is an expert, trained in that skill. The experts are not allowed to move from place to place, but you are free to. You can get up and leave at any time to move on to go somewhere else.

Some of the stations focus on survival skills, like identifying berries, starting fires, and knowing which leaves are poisonous and which are safe. Others are combat, with swords, hand-to-hand, and so on. Because tributes can’t fight with each other, if you want to test your combat skills, all you have to do is ask and they’ll send someone to you that’s qualified.

And even though Pasithea already gave examples of the survival stations, she goes down a list, anyway. Good versus bad berries, leaves, and hiding places. How to start fires, snares and knots. You’re welcome to play memory games, and show off whatever you like. As for combat, the list of weapons is long, and you tune out towards the middle.

You don’t know what half the weapons look like, and you’ve never heard the names before. So, what’s the point in trying until you’re free? Finnick looks like he’s bored of it too, and he shares a look with you, eyes going off to the side as he jerks his head in a direction. You look around him, and your eyes land on the fire starting station.

Might as well. You nod, he looks happy that you’ve agreed. When Pasithea releases you all, allowing you to finally get your hands on things, everyone seems to split off somewhere. Your career friends head right towards the nearest combat and weapon stations, already showing off.

District Seven seems to do the same, they both look as old, or even older than the careers. The girl swings a top-heavy axe like it’s nothing, the boy stands back and watches. If you were to make an alliance with them, it would probably be a package deal. Just like you and Finnick.

At the fire starting station, you and Finnick take a seat around a ring of rocks with wood in the middle. The expert kindly asks if you have any clue on where to get started, and Finnick shakes his head. You offer some half-assed answer of flint and stone and sparking a flame. This seems good enough for her, and she starts by showing you that technique.

Back and forth, you and Finnick try various ways to get it done. You’re able to get the fire started way before him, but once he realizes what he was doing wrong, he outshines you. After flint and stone comes the actual devices that might be included in some backpacks in the arena if you run towards the cornucopia.

For years, you’ve watched people run to the middle, and every time you call them stupid. Who is dumb enough to run to the one place where all the careers will be waiting? All those tributes that have died in the bloodbath--which is what the massacre is called--have to have known that their chances of getting anything out of the cornucopia itself is slim to none.

If you pick off the things that are scattered outside of it, you have a lesser chance of dying. But running inside, where the careers will be protecting their precious goods is just like accepting the fact that you’re going to die. And most of the time, it’s going to be gory and nowhere near quick. They like to make a show out of it.

After you and Finnick seem to have got it down, you and him bid the expert goodbye and move on. Deciding that you’d like to work on something you two actually know a lot about and is fairly useless, you settle on the knot tying station, which is also where the snares are taught.

The expert seems thrilled at your knowledge, watching you list off which types of ropes are used for what. And then you settle down on the floor, tying and retying all the knots you can remember that Reed taught you. You know the names to most still, but there’s some that slip your mind. Despite the name being gone, you still know how to move your hands.

Finnick leans over your shoulder, watching you tie a knot that’ll be nearly impossible to escape once tightened, “Who taught you all of these?”

“My oldest brother, Reed.” you hold it up for the expert to see. She’s got a smile on her face, nodding, “I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve sat on a boat while he and Mox fished, watching me do these.”

He asks you to teach him a few that you feel are important, and you almost feel bad for the expert. They’re no longer the teacher, because you lean over and have Finnick do a series of them until he’s sure that he’s got it down. 

You want to try your hand with the weapons, but Finnick is still pulling you along to the survival places. You follow anyway, thinking to yourself that you’ll be able to try them after lunch. You and him made a deal, and so when it’s your turn, you’ll be able to do what you want. 

By the time lunch rolls around, you’re starving and dehydrated. Inside of the lunch area, they have a buffet-style meal. All the tributes are welcome to help themselves and go back for more whenever they please. You and Finnick help yourselves to foods that you know will be filling but not too rich. After that, plenty of water bottles.

Before you and Finnick can even get the chance to start a career table, you’re being waved down by the boy from Three. The girl has got her head raised, eyes on the two of you. She says something to him, and once he scowls, she looks down and away.

“Where do you want to sit?” you ask Finnick.

“I thought we were going for Districts One and Two?”

“I’ll let you have today if you let me have tomorrow.” you say, “Anywhere you want.”

Unsurprisingly, Finnick heads right towards the table with District Three. It’s a sacrifice, and you’re hoping that it’s not a bad one. You ignore the stares you get from the alliance you’re really after, and settle down at the table.

“Hi.” you greet, “I’m (Y/n).”

“Blaire.” the boy says, sitting up taller, “This is Verda.”

“Finnick.”

The conversation starts off slow, until Verda eventually enters and carries most of it by herself. She asks questions, expands on anything that you and Finnick ask. You were right about them being friendly. Not once is there a tense moment between any of you, and at the end of lunch, you four decide to stick together.

Blaire mainly sticks by your side. He’s funny, and his laugh is a little loud but you’re not embarrassed by it. In fact, the more he laughs, the more you find yourself reconsidering the alliance with the other careers. 

You and Finnick are only fourteen and fifteen. The others are between sixteen and eighteen, they could easily overpower you with all those years of training. One bad move with them, and there’s a chance they’ll kill you on the spot. There’s safety in numbers, of course. But why bother to keep around a couple of teens that are dragging them down?

With Blaire and Verda, they’re older, but you don’t find them that threatening. If they came up to you back home, you’d make friends out of the both of them, no questions ask. Which might be a downfall, and could really get you killed. You can’t be friendly with everyone in here, but Blaire and Verda seem to be different.

Soon, you’re all moving onto weapons--finally!--per Blaire’s request. While learning how to handle a knife properly, Finnick sits on the only open spot next to you, and leans over.

“Still want to be allies with the careers?” 

You wonder if he’s noticed how close you’ve grown to Blaire in the last couple of hours, or how you refuse to even look at the careers. However, he should know that you gave him today. Just because you act one way today, doesn’t mean you won’t act a different way tomorrow.

You’ll change with the seasons if you have to. If it means that you’ll stay alive longer, you’ll play games with people. Keep Finnick close, let him think that you’ll agree with him, and then you’ll play with the careers. Slowly but surely dragging him back to the idea. Because now, he’s made it no secret that he doesn’t want to be allies with them.

You look at Finnick, and he’s got the same face he had on when you asked him what he was talking about with Anchor. It clicks now. He doesn’t want to be friends or allies with the careers, and he was expressing that to Anchor. And now he’s trying to nudge you in the right direction without giving anything away.

It’s too late. You force a smile, looking back down to the blade. It’ll only be a matter of time before you’re using a similar weapon against someone. You wonder who will be first, your traitorous friend Finnick on the request of the careers, or the careers on the request of Finnick.

You will go back home. And you’ll do whatever it takes.

So, for now you let out a laugh, nose crinkling and catching the eyes of Blaire, not so much Verda. Finnick’s looking over your face, a smile slowly creeping on. That’s right, “A little.”

If you do switch sides, you wonder if it’ll be for Finnick, someone who you’ve known for years but won’t open up to you. Or the boy across from you, with sea blue eyes that make tears well in your own, because they remind you of home. Or maybe the girl that seems to have a heart of gold, and a smile that can lighten the mood.

You all move together one last time before the day is over, to the berry station where the girl from Eleven is hunched over, easily identifying the edible ones. She passes with a perfect score, and flashes the expert a smile. When she realizes that you guys have joined her, the smile fades and she’s quiet as she moves onto identifying leaves and bark.

And Finnick being Finnick, manages to get her to open up. Her name is Thyme, her district mate’s name is Horace--and he’s halfway across the room--and she’s got no one at the moment. It isn’t until they’re all deep into a conversation about their lives when you realize what’s going on. What Finnick’s doing.

The more you seem to learn about these people, the less you picture yourself killing them. You know you wouldn’t be able to kill Finnick even on a good day, not with how his mom knows you and so does the rest of his family. Blaire’s got a brother, Verda has two sisters and Thyme is an only child with no one but her old parents.

All of this settles uneasily in you. There’s always an ulterior motive with people.

Before you can change your mind, you abruptly push yourself up from where you sit, causing Finnick to falter on a few words, slowly dragging them out. He must think you’re stretching or something, because he goes back to what he was saying. But you turn away from all of them, smoothly escaping the rocky station and crossing the gymnasium.

Being friends with everyone is going to get you killed. He’s still young, he doesn’t understand that. He hasn’t had these thoughts drilled into his head since he turned twelve, there’s no way for him to know that. Even after you tried to push him in the right direction, he went right back to what he was thinking before.

But it’s weird, because he agreed to being allies with the careers on the train, so what changed? Was it that conversation with them after the parade yesterday? Because they didn’t even say anything that sent a red flag off in your mind. You would have noted it like you always do, how vicious they are.

They haven’t even shown that side of them yet. Them going to the weapons could be an intimidation factor, but they haven’t shown viciousness just yet.

Trink looks around Lennox at your approach, and even goes as far as to move him out of the way, clearing a space right between him and Eytelle. In front of them is Allio, who’s making the best out of fighting an assistant. He’s incredibly good, and there’s only one time that the assistant touches him.

“Where’s Finnick?” Lennox asks.

“Making his friends.” you offer a smile, “You guys want to show me how it’s done?”

Eytelle lets out a laugh, “Show us what you can do first.”

Your eyes go over the different stations and how they’re organized. Swords are placed with knives. Spears are placed with tridents. Maces are placed with other top-heavy items like axes. You move straight over to the spears, and listen as they loosely follow.

The second that your fingers wrap around the expensive metal of a spear, you remember Anchor telling you not to show off any important skills. Save it for the private session in two days. You look over your shoulder, straight to the gamemakers to see that a couple have got their eyes on you.

You’ve spent the entire day going around and honing skills, and spent lunch with people you didn’t think you’d find yourself next to. Now, you’ve abandoned them and your district mate, heading straight to the careers. There’s a split second where you think that they shouldn’t be surprised, because you were around these guys yesterday, and then you remember that they hadn’t seen that.

The gamemakers are surprised because they thought this year would be an anomaly. The last third of the careers would be off and away, playing with districts they’ve never really dared to go before. Not with the comfort of knowing that the careers will take them in no matter what. Districts One, Two and Four tend to be the powerhouses, why bother to break a streak?

Looking a little further, it seems Finnick and the rest of them are watching you too. 

You grip the metal tighter, turning back to the target circle right in front of you. It would be easy to do this. District Four is almost expected to know how to do this already. You just need to find a second skill, a much more special one that will wow the gamemakers. For now, you can throw this one away.

You draw your arm back, eyes on the one farest from you. Your face twists when you tense, throwing it with all the right power, and watching as the tip of the spear guides it nicely through the air, and straight to the red dot in the middle of the target. 

“It’s a little off center.” you laugh, because it is. It’s too far to the right, but it’s on the red nonetheless. You turn towards the others, they’ve got smiles on their faces, sharing looks that let you know you did good. Still not vicious, they’re planning something, “Think you can do better?”

“You win on this one.” Trink says, “As for everything else…”

The rest of the training day is spent next to the weapons. You don’t see Finnick again until you’re leaving, and even then neither of you talk. It’s obvious to Mags, Anchor and Elysia that something has happened because the happy air between the two of you is gone. You’re not asked why, but Finnick is when you leave the table to call it a night.

The second day isn’t anywhere near a rinse and repeat of yesterday. At the beginning, Blaire decides that he wants to stay next to you, and it’s kinda hard to shake him when you want to go to the careers. However, going around the gym is a lot less painful with him, because there isn’t a history. After lunch, you’re right back to the careers.

Instead of making fun of you, they teach you the same dangerous skills that they know. You breathe in all in, taking in as much information as you can. You only have tomorrow morning left, after that is the session, the interview, and then the games. Just the thought of them alone gets your heart beating in your chest.

A little bit into the knife-throwing lesson that the expert is giving to you, you learn that it’s easy. When you finally get a shot to throw, just to test the waters, you throw the best you can at the nearest target. When it lands in the middle, you claim beginners luck but know that will be your skill for the gamemakers. After that, you repeatedly fail with throwing and tell the others that you’ll stick to throwing spears.

Just like that, you’ve got what you need to know. 

You all mess around on the obstacle course for a while. Climbing ropes and rock walls. You find yourself scaling the rock wall easily. The expert suggests using just the cracks, which are there to provide an extra challenge to those who are good regularly. You slip a few times at the beginning, not knowing how heavy or slippery your fingers are.

But soon, you’re grasping it, and you reach the top of the wall three times in the time it takes Allio to scale the wall once just using the rocks. Impressed, he gives you a high-five and you get praise from the others as well. You’re a lot more prepared than you gave yourself credit for.

Finnick comes over to the station next to yours with Thyme only once. The two of them take a lesson on sword fighting, which Thyme is pretty bad at, but Finnick isn’t too shabby. You take note of this, and pretend like you never watched them in the first place.

Your friends leave early, claiming to be sore from all the climbing. They want to be in their best shape when it comes to tomorrow. You bid them goodbye, and even consider going back early too. You decide against it last minute, thinking that it’ll be a perfect time to work on hand to hand. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

Blaire comes up to you, leaning against the pillar as he watches you flip the assistant over your head and onto their back. You struggled with their weight for a moment, rusty on doing it. But you managed to get it over with.

“Where’d you learn that one?” he asks.

“My brothers.” you help the assistant up, “Back before my parents died, we wrestled all the time.” it’s right back to fighting. When you’re pouring sweat and feel the tiredness growing behind your eyes, you stop and get water, still talking to Blaire, “They’re like four and five years older than me, too.”

Blaire laughs, “I did the same with my brother all the time. Until the day I accidentally broke his wrist.”

“Older or younger?”

“He’s older.” Blaire’s got a proud smile on his face, “He couldn’t even be mad at me.”

When you get back to the apartment, you see that Laurel is standing around with Pleurisy and Mags. Finnick had left long before you did, and with the looks that everyone gives you, you can see that they’re upset. Not asking any questions, you tell them you’re skipping dinner and don’t leave your room for the rest of the night.

In the middle of the night, you wake from a nightmare in sweat-soaked bed sheets, clutching your throat as you struggle to breathe. There’s tears gathering in your eyes, and you force yourself to get up from bed and take the hottest shower you’ve ever taken. When you leave the shower, your skin is painfully hot and sensitive to the touch.

You curl up in front of the window, knees pulled to your chest as you try not to cry too loudly. It’s late, and the last thing you’d want is to wake someone up and have to explain why you’re so upset. And despite your best attempts, the door opens anyway, and Finnick comes in without a word. He sits next to you on the floor until sunrise, by then you’ve calmed down and your cheeks feel dry. 

When the streets come back alive, he leaves again. You don’t thank him at the breakfast table, you don’t even look at him.

Back at the Training Center, you spend the last couple of hours going around to all the survival stations that you hadn’t bothered to consider beforehand. The careers follow you and even learn a few things too. Once out of the couple of hours of walking around, you find ‘your’ group and ‘Finnick’s’ group at the same station at the same time.

During lunch you hardly eat anything, the nerves sprouting in your stomach and blossoming in your throat. Trink reassures you that you’ll do great, and you spend the rest of the time gently sipping on your water. Then, the private training starts. Lennox is pulled out first, and you all wish him good luck.

After Lennox is Trink, and neither of them return after they’re gone. You watch Allio and then Eytelle go. You’re sitting alone at the table for a while, watching the avoxes clean the table, but leave your water. You think you’re going to spend the time alone, wallowing in nerves when the others come around, Thyme following too.

“I’m going to get a perfect twelve.” Blaire says, Verda lets out a laugh.

“Right.”

“You’d have to do something amazing for that. What have you got under your sleeve?” Finnick asks.

Blaire looks to you, eyebrows raised and motions to the others, “They didn’t see my wicked hand-to-hand skills.”

“Neither did I.” you say, which gets the whole table laughing and a lot of stares because of it.

Soon, Blaire is being called. You all wish him good luck, and you find that it’s the same process as before, watching the people around you get picked off. Verda leaves the table graciously, winking at the three of you before she leaves into the next room. And then Finnick is getting called.

For the first time in a day and a half, you look at him, grabbing his arm before he goes. Finnick turns, green eyes on yours, face set serious. It’s like your own little personal bubble, filled with so much tension that it’s almost funny.

“Score high, for everyone back home.”

Finnick nods, “You too.”

You let him go, and watch as he leaves the room. Thyme doesn’t say anything to you, and you’re glad for it. She’s their friend, not yours. And you don’t even want to bother trying at this point. You’re tired, you have today and then tomorrow, and then you’re going to be fighting everyday to stay alive.

“Boy trouble?” you hear a voice call from across the room. When you look over, the District Seven girl is sitting on top of the table, feet on the chair. It’s so incredibly rude to do that, but you’ve only got so much time left to be kids.

You think her name is Cass, you’ve heard the boy say it a few times in passing. Cass and Mac, tributes of District Seven.

“Not really.” you lean your head up and against your hand, “It looks like that, doesn’t it?”

“Kinda.” A boy says, he’s from Six. He’s stuck next to Mac since the beginning, and you think you saw them having a few private moments. Amos, you think. You can never be sure at this point.

“I wish I had boy troubles.” Elodia, Five, says, she smiles at the ceiling, “All the boys at home used to drool over me.”

“Right.” the boy from her district says, “You were a loser.”

She shoots him a glare, “Watch it.”

“Watch it.” he mocks, and she pushes herself up from where she sits. He’s pretty far away, a whole two tables away. They’ve been apart for the most part since the first day. 

Pasithea doesn’t want a fight, so she advises you all to keep quiet for the rest of the time. It’s not really bothersome to you. You finish your water, use the bathroom and still have a minute or two to spare before you’re called into your session. You pop every possible bone in your body so you aren’t stiff, and head right into it.

With shoulders squared, you walk into the room. You’re informed that you have fifteen minutes to show any skill of your choosing, and then you’re allowed to start. Without a moment of hesitation, you wander your way over to the throwing knives. And as you start, you can hear a few laughs. 

You hope they underestimate you. It’ll just make this so much better.

Looking over the knives they have laid out, you take your time balancing them between your fingers and feeling the engraved handles. You try to find one that’s not so distracting, that’ll fit just right into your palm when you throw it. Again and again, you pick them up and narrow them down.

When you finally find the set you’re looking for, you turn towards the dummy that’s hanging from the ceiling. A morbid sight, really. And you repress laughter, because that was your original thought on a special skill. It’s almost a sign.

You take a deep breath, stretch your shoulder. You know that no matter what, they have to watch you. Knowing that they’re staring at you isn’t going to mess up, it’s the fact that you know you have to perform well. It’s exactly what Finnick said a few days ago.

Finally, you draw your arm back without notice and throw the knife as hard as you can, exactly what you had done with the spear yesterday. It flips once, and then twice. You’re sure that’s going to fuck it up, until they seem to slow down, bigger intervals before it flips again.

The knife hits the heart of the dummy with a dull thud. You throw a second knife, watching as that one lands in the stomach, and then another in the knee. You use up all but one knife, saving the last one for the spear throw target. The dummy is incredibly impressive, since you had only missed twice out of the nine that you threw. One was too far above the shoulder, and one was right between the legs.

The spear is going to be much farther, a larger distance to cover. If you thought throwing before was hard, this one nearly looks impossible. You stretch your shoulder again, take a deep breath, and then throw. It crosses the distance easily in an arc, landing right on the red middle.

Once the gamemakers are sure you’re done, they dismiss you. And you think you saw a few impressed expressions, which eases your anxious thoughts, and allows you to move onto the next worry.

Tomorrow, the interview.

[dreams-of-the-arcana]

Who is Magni? The answer is here. Be warned though, this is some angst

Pairing: Muriel x OC! Cleo Rosehyn

Warnings: Birth, angst, pain

Pre-Death, Pre-Canon (During event. Post-Death, During Canon (After)

He Can Never Know

Cries of pain filled the underground lab where the three inside hoped they would stay. If anyone discovered what they were doing... they tried to stay hopeful that everyone would stay away from the library above though.

Light filled the chamber as much as it could but even with every candle lit it wasn’t much. They’d had magic light at first but the task at hand commanded both of their undivided attention. Maybe if the two in the middle of the room had more light they would have noticed the tall lanky shadow hiding nearby, frozen in shock and fear.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!” Cleo screamed out. She laid out on one of Doctor V’s clinical tables as the Doctor himself rushed around her.

“Good Cleo! Good push! Now I think with the next push we can see their head! Try the stick, please. It will help,” Doctor V held the short wooden dowel wrapped in a towel out to her. Cleo shook her head vigorously.

“No! Don’t you put that in my mouth,” she insisted before another pain began to rip through her. Cleo clenched her teeth this time though and tried to focus all the pressure on her push.

The shadow behind the wall faced an inner turmoil as he listened to the woman’s pain. He was a Doctor and he should be out there helping. But Doctor V had specifically forbidden anyone from entering his lab that night and that included the young Doctor. Not that he’d listened of course. Now he started to regret it.

“I can see the head! You’re doing wonderfully!” Doctor V continued his encouragement as he quickly moved around trying to set up the space by himself. Cleo had helped when she was able but for the actual birth it was all to him. If he’d had any extra energy to spend he’d have been honored that his old friend trusted him so much. Instead, ever since the pair realized Cleo was pregnant they’d lived in fear.

Doctor V did all he could by telling everyone Cleo was still recovering from her “accident” the last time she’d visited Count Lucio. The Count had hounded him frequently whenever Cleo had been sick before but this time he gave the Doctor and the lab a wide breadth. At first, Doctor V really did just want to keep her away from him. When Cleo had returned she had a faraway look in her eye, multiple bruises, and wouldn’t speak to anyone. Doctor V didn’t ask any questions. Unfortunately though, they’d both forgotten to be diligent on her contraceptive. By the time they started to suspect, she was too far gone for it to be a quick fix. So they hid her away. Granted they knew it could all come undone in a moment if anyone noticed and mentioned it to the Count but they tried. Cleo wore baggier clothing, used her magic to glamour herself, helped out in the lab, and started to open up again.

Being so throughly and violently tossed aside by someone she’d loved for 10 years was made all the worse by the fact his seed was quickening in her womb. Doctor V had worried at first and kept a close eye on her. Once he was sure she was stable though he broached the subject of what they would do. They agreed that the Count could never know. The child would be taken elsewhere, far away from Lucio. And Cleo.

“Ahhhh!!! Mmmmm!” Cleo tried to stay quiet.

“The head! Cleo! We have the head! Push!”

With a final monstrous effort, it was done. They waited for the first soft cries... that didn’t come.

“Why aren’t they crying...?” Cleo tried to sit up but a rush of nausea and light headedness took her back down. Doctor V stared from Cleo to the baby in his arms in a panic.

“C-Cleo stay still! You’re hemorrhaging! I’ll.. I’ll.. do something!” The panic rose in his voice.

“Doctor what are you waiting for!? Get that baby breathing!” The hidden figure stepped out. He couldn’t sit by while this mother and child died.

Doctor V only stared in shock for a moment before getting to work.

A hazy vision of dark red curls and a wide reassuring smile filled Cleo’s view.

“Cleo, dear. My name is Doctor Devorak, I’m going to help you. I need you to stay with me and soon you’ll be able to see your son.” Julian patted her hand and moved to examine her but Cleo grabbed his sleeve and pulled him close.

“He... can never... know... he can’t see... he’d never let a son go... promise!”

“I promise.”

True to his word, Julian stopped the bleeding and stayed to watch Mother meet son for the first time. The union was short though. Doctor V turned to Julian.

“You’ve done well. Now that you know, I have one more favor to ask. Take the boy to our friend Sophia in the temple district. She’s waiting behind the Celtica alter and she’ll take him from there.” Julian nodded.

“Cleo?” Doctor V called gently. Cleo continued to stare at the baby in her arms.

“... tell Sophia his name is Magni. Monty told me a story about a god from his land named Magni. He was strong. Valdemar, please?” Cleo turned to Doctor V with a determined look set in her eyes.

“Of course. Magni.”

As Julian slipped away from the palace and into the dark he held his bundle close. Magni, the poor kid would need all the strength he could get.

Cleo shot up straight in bed, her hands outstretched and grabbing at the air in front of her. A low pained noise seemed to stick in her throat.

Muriel was awake in an instant, on guard. He frantically searched the room for any threat as his heart raced. When he finally realized there wasn’t anything in there he turned to Cleo and gently laid his hands on her waist.

“Cleo, wake up... it’s just a bad dream...” Muriel spoke softly and rubbed his thumbs gently against her lower back.

Cleo opened her eyes and lowered her eyes, the dream was already fading away faster than she could hold onto.

“I... I think it had something to do with Magni... I’m not sure what... but I feel like it was important.”

Cleo looked to the right side of the tent where she knew Magni’s tent was set up right next to her own. Most of Vesuvia surrounded them hiding from Lucio at Muriel’s hut so Cleo made sure to put Magni where she could see him.

Muriel watched her with a shadow of a pain over his heart. He could vividly remember the night Cleo told him about Magni but of course, she couldn’t remember any of it.

The confession felt like a fire inside him, always threatening to burst out and burn down the life Cleo had made. Muriel wanted her to know but he remembered the cold lifeless eyes when Cleo had heard about her past before and shut down completely. In the middle of this war didn’t seem like the right time to risk it. Especially when she didn’t even know the details of her relationship with Lucio. So Muriel pushed the fire back down and gently led Cleo to rest her head on his chest. He pulled her close and used his other hand to pet her hair softly.

“Magni’s okay... he’s safe...”

Soon Cleo’s breathing evened out, petting her hair always worked. Muriel stared up at the top of the tent for some time though before whispering to himself.

“I promise... he’ll always be safe...”

[reinerispretty]

rotations. (zuko x f!reader) pt13

hello and thank you so so much for reading!! i appreciate each and every one of you so very much :) i love writing this story and it makes my heart so happy that you guys love it too!!

pt1

pt12

pt14

“KATARA!” Toph shouted. “(Y/N) needs you!” The older girl smacked a hand to her forehead.

“I would’ve really liked to keep this just between us, Toph!”

“Oh, you should’ve said something before I called Katara over.”

Something had changed between (Y/N) and Sokka and it began after Zuko arrived. She didn’t know why, but slowly their kisses fell few and far in between. Even intimate touches, which had been so normal for them in private, had become scarce. She worried about bringing it up to Sokka, because what if he hadn’t noticed? Maybe they were becoming distant because of the battle that loomed ahead. Maybe she had been imagining it. 

At night, after everyone had gone to bed, (Y/N) liked to sit in front of the fire and enjoy some quality time to herself. She enjoyed being with her friends, but she found that if she didn’t take a moment to herself every once in a while, her thoughts would be even more all over the place than they were to begin with. So she sat, staring at the fire, until eventually she felt drowsy enough to go to sleep. 

Sokka came and sat beside her that night. She was surprised to see him, to say the least, since he normally fell asleep fast and hard. He was dead to the world once he was asleep. She gave him a smile. “What’re you doing up so late?” 

“I think we should talk.” His voice was kind, but those words still struck a chord of fear in her heart. “Things have been different between us lately, and I think you know why.” She sighed, turning to face him. 

“I’ve noticed it too. I didn’t want to say anything, just in case I was being crazy, but I think all of the Fire Nation stuff is really starting to get to me. I mean, everything we’ve been preparing for is actually starting to happen, y’know?” 

“I don’t think that’s why. I mean, it might be part of it, but I think there’s a bigger reason.” He paused to look her straight in the eyes. She furrowed her brows, not understanding. “He’s here now.” 

“I’ll admit, being around him has been super difficult for me, but I don’t think--” 

“(Y/N), you love him.” She shook her head. 

“I don’t!” 

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, (Y/N). Yue used to look at me the exact same way.” 

“You’re wrong, Sokka. I’ll acknowledge that things haven’t been the same between us, but it’s not because of Zuko. At all.” Sokka gave her a smug smile. “Stop looking at me like that or I’ll knock that smirk right off your face!” 

Sokka paled. “Hey, hey, okay! If you say it’s not because of Zuko, then fine. I don’t believe you, but fine.” He smiled as she frowned. “But I do think that you and I are better off as--” 

“Friends?” She guessed. Sokka shook his head. 

“No, we’re more than that. We’re family. You’re like the sister I never wanted.” She cracked a smile. 

“I thought that was Katara.” 

“It’s the both of you.” He patted her shoulder before he stood. “You should get some sleep.” She looked up at him with a small smile. 

“You’re not my boyfriend, don’t tell me what to do.” Sokka laughed as he walked back to his room. 

The next day, she had woken to found that Sokka and Zuko had set off on a fishing trip. (Y/N) become increasingly nervous. She could only imagine the kind of conversations they were having. Would they talk about her? She hoped not, they both had way too many embarrassing stories about her to ever be allowed to go anywhere alone together. 

“Why’re you so nervous?” Toph asked, making (Y/N) jump as she stared at the letter the boys had left for them. 

“Toph, how many times have I told you not to sneak up on me?” 

“Too many for me to care,” the young girl said with a grin. (Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Seriously, what’re you so nervous for?”

She sighed, rolling up the letter and stuffing it in her pocket. “Sokka and I broke up last night.” 

Toph’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, um, I don’t really know what to say...” 

“It’s okay, it’s really for--” 

“KATARA!” Toph shouted. “(Y/N) needs you!” The older girl smacked a hand to her forehead. 

“I would’ve really liked to keep this just between us, Toph!” 

“Oh, you should’ve said something before I called Katara over.” 

“What’s wrong?” Katara asked, her face contorted in worry. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yes!” (Y/N) said at the exact same time Toph said “No!” 

“(Y/N) and Sokka broke up.” Katara’s mouth dropped open in surprise. 

“Are you okay? Did he break up with you? Did you break up with him? I want you to know that I love you regardless of who broke up with who, okay?” 

“Thank you, Katara, but I--” 

“You and Sokka broke up?” Aang interrupted her. Even Momo leapt onto (Y/N)’s shoulders and rubbed his face against her cheek as if he were comforting her. 

“Guys, it’s really fine!” She exclaimed, picking Momo up off of her shoulders and holding him in her arms. “It was really...nice?” 

“Oh, no,” Toph said. “She’s in denial.” 

“I don’t even have parents, but it kind of feels like mine just separated. Is that normal?” Aang asked. (Y/N) groaned. 

“You guys are actually ridiculous. It’s fine, I’m fine, the conversation went really well and we’re all still gonna be one big happy family.” She paused. “Plus Zuko.” 

“Why did you guys break up?” Katara questioned, and all three of her friends looked at her with expectant faces. Even Momo looked like he was hanging on the edge of his seat. 

“Things started to be different and he said it’s because Zuko’s here.” She shrugged. “No big deal.” 

“Things started to be different because you love Zuko,” Toph said quietly. 

“Shut up Toph!” She shouted. She pushed past her friends and stalked toward her room, mumbling the whole way about how annoying her friends were. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sokka and Zuko were gone for a few days, leaving (Y/N) plenty of time to come to terms with the breakup. She had been a little sad about it at first, but after some long talks with Momo, she knew that everything would be okay in the end. It might take a bit, but she and Sokka would get back on their best friend wavelength eventually. 

What he said had been wrong. She didn’t love Zuko. After everything he had done to her, there was no way that she could. The tightness in her chest every time she saw him was just because she wasn’t used to having him around. The reason she thought about him so often was because she was so mad at him. Sokka had been way off. She would admit that some small part of her cared about Zuko, but she certainly didn’t love him. 

When Zuko and Sokka returned, they came in an airship accompanied by Hakoda, Suki, and an inmate from Boiling Rock named Chit Sang. (Y/N) couldn’t contain her squeal when Suki stepped off the airship. They had first met when Suki accompanied them through the Serpent’s Pass. They had become very close throughout that walk, close enough where (Y/N) felt comfortable telling Suki that she was actually a firebender. While the Kyoshi Warrior had been surprised, she passed no judgment onto (Y/N). They had continued their journey sharing stories and making jokes about Sokka. 

The two girls embraced each other tightly, their smiles wide as they hugged. Once they had pulled apart, (Y/N) punched Sokka. “I can’t believe you went to Boiling Rock! Are you insane?” 

“Ow! Hey, I had to take a risk! Luckily I had Zuko around to help me out.” (Y/N) cut her eyes to Zuko, who gave her a smile. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Suki. 

“I see that situation hasn’t changed,” Suki whispered to (Y/N). She shook her head. 

“Absolutely not. Want me to show you to your room?” 

“I can do it!” Sokka offered, grabbing Suki by the hand to lead her down the hallway. In an instant, (Y/N) realized what had happened while they were at Boiling Rock. While it stung her heart a bit to have Sokka move on from her so quickly, she cared about both him and Suki far too much to be upset about it. 

Zuko instantly noticed the change in (Y/N)’s demeanor as she watched Sokka and Suki walk away. He walked over to stand at her side. “He, um, told me that you broke up.” 

She whirled on him, her (color) eyes glaring at him. “What did he tell you?” She demanded. Zuko gulped. She had become much more intimidating over the past few years. 

“He said that you guys decided you were better off as friends.” She pursed her lips, still staring at him. “If you want to talk--” 

“I don’t want to talk about it and I certainly don’t want to talk about it with you.” She snapped. She turned on her heel and walked over to Katara. She whispered something in her ear and then the Water Tribe girl turned to glare at Zuko. He gave her a small wave. 

Gaining (Y/N’s) trust was a long and almost torturous process, but he knew that she was worth it. 

---

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