He tries so hard to miss her. It should be easy, on the back of his horse, plodding through the pouring rain, eyes fixed on Robert’s back. Shivering in his armor, soldiers lined behind them in the dark. He can’t remember her face.
In their bed, days ago, in his arms. Auburn hair spilling everywhere. Kind words, expecting his return. Doubting it, in her voice. He misses the idea of her. Wife. Family. Future.
War. He finds them, one day away from King’s Landing. Three red weirwood leaves, tucked into his pack. He dreams that they smell of Catelyn’s skin.
Two steps forward, one step back. She hits the wall on her third step back. He watches her eyes go wide, waits for the roll of her surprised laughter. Her dark hair, wet at the ends, caught in the collar of her shirt. He reaches for it, and she slips away. Why are we doing this anyway?
Dance’s exercise, he says. Her laughter, again. Moonlight high in the window. Not when we don’t know what we’re doing.
Always determined to lead, he mutters under his breath. She pulls him along, spins him underneath her skinny arm, and he lets her.
She sees them once, just outside the dining room. Genna’s back against the wall; Tywin leaning over her, his hand on the wall above her steadying him. He ducks his head down toward hers, laughing, and she presses up on the tips of her slippered feet so that she can whisper in his ear. Their lips pass close for just a moment. Hidden, Joanna holds her breath.
It stops. Tywin pulls back. Genna bows her head, blushing. I saw you, Joanna says later. It slips out. Saw me what? Genna says. That’s the worst, really, because Joanna doesn’t even know.
Was he to remember her like that always, not with her hands fisted in the front of Brandon’s tunic as she begged for his life, but younger, happier, her hair streaming out behind her, in the woods and a hundred steps ahead? Always unattainable, even then. Lysa, even father behind him, out of sight, out of mind, and the flash of Catelyn’s toothy smile as she turned, laughing, before plunging deeper into the woods beyond. He loved her then, the girl, as she was, not for the simple idea of her. But he wondered if it would be always, underneath tired aged face that smile and that laughter and those freckled legs, working frantically, drawing her ever father and father away.
‘Hey, hon,’ she said. Like she couldn’t tell from the weight of his stride that it wasn’t him. Like she wasn’t already coiling up from the mattress, shedding sheets, making for the letter-opener on the desk or the protection of the bathroom door. The letter-opener was as far as she got. Big man in a nice suit, he never saw that coming for a second.
She was standing over the body still when he arrived. ‘Hey, hon,’ she said. Like it was nothing. Until he turned away from the door and saw her there, naked and covered in blood, streaked red across her hips where she had tried to wipe it off her palms, again and again like it made any difference. And the body at her feet, stabbed six, seven times with that little blade. Splatter on the carpet, the sheets, the walls.
She took his hands, looked right up into his eyes. He could feel the blood, warm and wet and growing tacky where they touched. ‘You tell me,’ she said to him. ‘You tell me what’s going on, Tywin. What he came here for. I know he would have killed me. I’m not just some toy of yours, you know.’ Sweet and soft and urgent, he was nodding, already coming up with a lie.
But she drew her hands away, naked, bloody, smiling now, all the big-eyed fear flushed out of her. She looked down at his bloody hands, she was backing through the bathroom door. He could hear the sink running. ‘You tell me, Tywin. Or I’ll tell the cops how you put the letter-opener in between that man’s ribs.’
She never, for a moment, saw the difference. She never liked sex, for what it was. The slide of bodies, the slap of skin, the signs and smells that stayed with you for hours when there were other things that needed doing. Sex, for what it was, was nothing. But that feeling. Her finger, under one of their chins, tilting upward. Their golden hair threaded between her fingers as she pressed them down, sought her own pleasure. The way they listened, and did as she bid. The power, it moved inside of her then. I have you, she would think. I have you and you are mine and I can pull anything I want out of you. So Joanna never saw the difference. Genna, with her shaking, sloping curves, trapped against the wall in some empty corridor. Tywin, with his brittle man-strength in the palm of her hand. What really was the difference when they knelt between her legs? Women placed too much value on a cock.
Catelyn Tully and Cersei Lannister attend an elite preparatory school in New Hampshire. They’re best friends—unlikely best friends—and have been for some time, since they were in junior high, and after that, when they migrated together to Casterly Prep, Catelyn on a scholarship and Cersei because her father is the headmaster. They rule the school with Cersei’s iron fist, Catelyn the more bookish, quieter of the two. They are the mean girls, the queens, the unfairly beautiful and entirely unfathomable. And they take everything as it comes, together, until things start to change. Senior prom is edging closer, and Catelyn’s already been asked by Brandon Stark, who she didn’t even like until he showed a bit of interest. Cersei is waiting on Rhaegar Targaryen, until she finds out that he’s already asked Ellia Martell, sees him kissing her next to her locker one Thursday afternoon. Prom comes and goes, and as Catelyn becomes increasingly wrapped up with her new boyfriend, Cersei begins to feel jealousy tear her apart. It’s not Rhaegar, she realizes, but Catelyn she wants, Brandon she’s jealous of.
And there’s nothing she can do, it seems, but surround herself with boys who are all angles and try to forget that it’s Catelyn, that it’s always been Catelyn, that when she sees that red hair thrown everywhere, splayed across the back seat of Brandon’s Buick, something inside her tears apart. But there’s a right way to deal with this, and a wrong way, and by the time Cersei’s using a freshman girl named Barbrey to lure Brandon away, she realizes that she’s made her choice. That the scheming and the lying and the cheating and all of this might get Brandon out of the picture, but it might devastate Catelyn, too, and it might make sure that Cersei never speaks to her again.
30 days of femslash - day six.
Joanna Lannister is marrying into one of the nation’s most well-known and wildly wealthy families. Well, sort of. Tytos Lannister has just stepped down from his position as the Governor of the State of New York, amid scandalous rumors of his infidelity, which were followed shortly after by the death of his wife. They have postponed the wedding twice, but Tywin Lannister, who is marrying for love (and what else could drive a young man of such prominence to publicly wed his cousin?), is eager to set things in motion. The entire family has retreated to their vacation home in the Hamptons, where the wedding preparations are well in motion. But as they settle in and the date draws nearer, Joanna finds herself on edge, wondering if the family’s glossy veneer might hide a truly dirty underbelly. Tywin is ill-at-ease with all his brothers, his father fucks his girlfriend, formerly mistress, with great abandon every night. And most peculiarly of all, Genna, Tywin’s only sister, seems to hang anxiously by his side, eyes turned up toward him, whenever Joanna cares to look. There is something foul about all of them, something that she’s not sure she dares touch. But she does touch Genna; Genna who craves her own brother less than she craves the power that rolls beneath his flesh, power that rolls beneath Joanna’s too. Joanna can give her that, if not a cock.
But when a man breaks into the house in the middle of the night and steals something—something of vast importance that nobody wants to name—Joanna finds herself thrumming in the center of it, pulling Genna along by her thin little puppet strings, following a mystery that’s climax might let Tywin, who she loves, who she’s supposed to marry, become nothing more than collateral damage.
30 days of femslash - day four.
Lydia Martin is an esteemed medical examiner, Allison Argent a police detective at the top of her field. Or, she was, until a seriously botched case lands her out on her ass, stripped of her badge. That’s not the kind of thing that’s ever stopped her before, though, and Allison goes out on her own, tailing the famed crime boss known as ‘The Wolf.’ Concerned for her friend’s safety, Lydia offers to help, processing evidence in the middle of the night, concealing it all at the same time in an attempt to keep her job and reputation. As Allison gets closer to pinning down The Wolf, her methods become more questionable, her mental state more fragile, her feelings toward Lydia more possessive, and their interactions more threaded with mutual desire.
But when she discovers that Allison’s kidnapped one of The Wolf’s underlings, a girl named Erica Reyes, it’s up to Lydia to pull her friend back from the edge and save this girl that she doesn’t even know. But are they already in too deep?
30 days of femslash - day three.