I could hear Harry screaming my name and try as I might, I couldn’t scream his name back. Stay back! I wanted to shout. Don’t come after me. Wherever they take me please, please, I prayed… please don’t take Harry too. Harry is the Boy Who Lived. If only one of us can survive, it should be him. (A HP/THG Crossover AU)
TWD x THG; Instead of Gale, Daryl is the one who taught Katniss how to hunt and was her substitute father figure.
"Fire is catching and if we burn, they’ll burn with us."
That’s what Daryl had said the last time I saw him. I took his words and threw it back to the Capitol. But now with the flames blazing on either side of me, I think he forgot to mention how fucking much it hurts to burn whether you’re the one to start the fire or not.
So what do I do now, Daryl? What do I do after I’ve started the fire?
The air is sharper in the north, given to sudden slaps of icy winds on overcast days. But today, the sun is shining, and the air seems warmer. Caroline still must fight the urge to shiver, fight the impulse to pull her cloak tightly around her. A princess does not shake in the wind, and she does not hide behind anything. She walks steadily, with grace and purpose, to where Father beckons.
“This is the daughter I’m giving you, Ned,” Father is red-cheeked and half-way to anger at his own reminder that he’s come so far to give his daughter away. “Yours is the only family I trust to give her to.”
That Caroline had harboured certain expectations before meeting these Starks in the north is something she is unaware of until they fail to meet them. It is the wolf, their sigil, she decides, that prompted her mind to think of black hair, brown eyes, and toothy smirks even though she knows the truth of it. Handsome devils, so tragic and so dark, and if these men are to be called wolves, they must look the part.
Lord Eddard Stark, who Father loves perhaps more than his brothers (but did he love the wolf more than he loves her?), is tall with brown hair and gray eyes and a face that has likely been carved from ice. His predecessors were called the Kings of Winter, she recalls from her books, and winter is a thing that is always on the northern mind. The ice must be in their blood, part of their makeup-it might have to be, for them to live and rule where they do.
But he can smile, this Stark of Winterfell, and that surprises her more than the rest. She dips down into her perfect princess curtsey, a soft ‘my lord’ on her lips, and looks up to see that smile. It melts the ice off his face, but not from his eyes. This is the coming of spring, she decides, but not the actual season itself. The snow is melting, but the ice of winter is too stubborn to disappear completely.
“My princess,” and a returning bow. Father has moved onto the Lady Stark, a hug and a kiss that is far less lecherous than his usual to ladies who are not Mother. Lord Eddard is bent over to kiss her knuckles, but Caroline feels the lady’s eyes on her. Baratheon blue meets Tully blue, and when Caroline dips her ankles before Catelyn Stark, she rises to meet a mother pleased for her son.
“My princess,” because they know their courtesies here in the north, and neither will call her daughter, or even just Caroline, until the cloaks have been exchanged.
And then, it is just Robb.
She isn’t expecting anyone. Her home isn’t one visited often, unless some imbecile decides to attempt to take ‘justice’ into their own hands. She has proven herself time and time again; the road to redemption long, grueling and unrelenting. So when the doorbell rings, she’s dangerously cautious as she pulls the door open.
There isn’t anyone immediately in sight as she does this, so she searches left and right. She’s on high alert, wary that this may be yet another attempt to capture her. It’s getting quite tiresome, but she can’t leave town and she can’t incinerate the fools, so she’s stuck here in this beautiful prison she calls home.
She finds no one on her porch, nor on her lawn, and she tries to determine whether this is some sort of scheme or a group of adolescents engaging in some sort of daring game of ‘ring the Evil Queen’s bell and run’. And that’s when she hears it, the distinctive tapping sound coming from behind her.
She halts her search, staying perfectly still, eyes still glued to the outside world as she listens for any hint of what she’ll face when she turns around. She hears a quiet mewl of distress, followed by a thumping sound. Whomever - or whatever - stands behind her is not the most clandestine of intruders, it seems.
It’s when she hears the unmistakable sound of what she assumes to be one of her Waterford vases clashing with the ground that she decides to make her move. She turns, ever so slowly, prepared to conjure a fireball to punish the halfwit.
Surprisingly, it isn’t an armored vagrant or masked idiot playing ninja that she finds when the intruder reaches her line of sight. Instead she comes face to face with a lanky, brown-haired, blue-eyed woman clad only in her birthday suit. The woman holds onto her breasts in a failing attempt to cover them from view as a sheepish expression overtakes her features.
The queen looks away momentarily, unable to stifle her amusement at the other woman’s predicament. She closes her eyes ever so briefly, but as she opens them she can’t help but sneak another glance at the nude woman before her.
This time, she doesn’t look away. Her pupils dilate as they take in the other brunette’s form, causing the other woman’s lips to contort into a mischievous grin.
The naked woman then let’s out a soft “hey.” It’s incredibly adorable and undeniably seductive.
The queen husks out a low “hello, dear.”
They then proceed to stare at one another as silence befalls them, each woman’s eyes greedily taking in the other’s figure. When the interaction begins to turn dangerous, the queen averts her eyes momentarily and clears her throat before looking the woman in the eyes.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Beauchamp?"
Hannibal Lecter (Mads Mikkelsen) / Jessica Hamby (Deborah Ann Woll)
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