everyone talking shit about my good friend raymun fossoway is going straight to hell "he's closer to the targaryens than the smallfolk" is he??? squire from a minor house who ditched his lord to fight with a hedge knight against the literal royal family. don't talk about him tf
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,587
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a lady in waiting in service to house fossoway learns to navigate the world of westeros while trying to survive the trials of the heart; with a tourney at ashford meadow on the horizon, she begins to experience new feelings.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: drinking, stolen first kiss, eventual canon typical nsfw themes.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: so im taking one for the team and writing for dear raymun because goddamnit somebody has to! my plan is to turn this into a series with every chapter centering around each episode! i hope you enjoy! all graphics done by @cafekitsune !!!
𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓
It was at the age of six-and-ten when you left your home, the sight of Honeyholt set to become a fleeting memory, your home no longer.
Becoming a lady in waiting had been your fathers idea, with two other sons to focus on, you hadn’t been surprised that he chose the easier option of shipping you off to another Lord in The Reach.
Your father was only brother to Lord Beesbury after all, and stood to inherit little, just as your brothers, the most they could strive for would be to become Knights of the realm, or marry some other lord’s daughter to gain a seat.
So naturally, when the topic of Lord Fossoway’s eldest daughter was brought up, it seemed only inevitable that you were brought into her service.
Kind enough, it had not taken long for the pair of you to form a genuine friendship; she appeared almost as an older sister to you, teaching you how to cross stitch and explaining the rules of tourney’s to you each time you were brought along to watch.
You had been born just a few years before the conclusion of the first Blackfyre rebellion, and your father had fought alongside Lord Fossoway, thus forming a friendship that you continued now with his daughter.
The life you lived wasn’t anything you could have complained about, you were well fed and dressed in soft cottons, occasionally silks on special occasions or when your lady had outgrown her own.
You know there were others that led much more sorry lives than your own.
It did not mean you didn’t miss your home, however.
That’s how you had met him.
It was a cloudy day when he’d spotted you sitting on a stone bench outside, near one of the many apple gardens planted around the border of Cider Hall.
Your very first day after arriving at the seat of House Fossoway, of course you were feeling homesick, you simply needed to get a good cry out of your system and then all would be easier.
You hadn’t noticed the boy peering around the corner of one of the stone pillars of the garden.
Obviously he hadn’t intended for you to hear him, for when he stood on a stick, the sound made your head whip up, startling him so much he nearly toppled over.
Wiping the tears from your cheeks with the sleeve of your dress, you stood, clenching your fists together before grabbing one of the fallen branches that lay on the ground near your feet.
Approaching quickly, you raised the thin branch and whacked at the boy’s leather clad shoulder as he turned away to try and soften the blow.
“Why were you watching me!” You demanded, holding it up to threaten another blow.
Holding his hands up, the boy shielded his face and shut his eyes.
“I wasn’t!” he countered, “S’not my fault you chose a shitey spot to cry!”
His accent wasn’t quite what you’d expected; not quite lowborn and yet certainly not what was the standard in The Reach.
Letting out a sound of annoyance, you dropped the stick and stomped past the boy, gripping your skirts to avoid getting them dirty.
The next time you’d seen the boy had been that same night in the main hall; sitting down with the rest of the Fossoways for supper.
From his accent and leather clothing, you’d assumed the boy had simply been a squire of little importance, clearly a mistake on your part, considering he was sitting with Lord Fossoway’s sister; who seemed to clearly be the boy's mother.
The entire time you had sat to eat, you continued to glance at the boy who was doing the same, glaring every time his eyes met your own.
It surely wasn’t a good start to your time at Cider Hall if you had beaten one of Lord Fossoway’s nephews with a stick.
At your place sat beside Lord Fossoway’s daughter, she noticed your glances at her cousin and laughed softly.
“Have you met Raymun then?” she asked, causing you to look over at her and grimace.
“Unfortunately.”
Another laugh left her lips as she reached for her goblet and took a sip of wine.
“Stubborn as a mule, that one. But give him time, he’ll grow on you.”
Her words only made you shake your head, furrowing your brows.
“Not likely.”
-
It had been days before you saw Raymun again, days you had spent familiarising yourself with the layout of Cider hall, attempting to memorise all the twists and turns.
It wasn’t similar to Honeyholt, at least not in the ways that mattered to you.
You were used to mornings where you could hear the flush of the Honeywine river outside of your window; here you were only ever greeted by the sound of howling winds travelling through the old stone cracks.
Small simplicities you had taken for granted were now the bane of your existence.
Back home, the well had been close by, easy to reach, and yet here, your shoes had been soaked with mud by the time you left the kitchens with hot water for your lady’s bath.
The sounds of swords clashing became louder as you rounded a corner, as well as grunts and sounds of soft cursing.
“I’m not even trying, cousin!”
Walking through the training grounds was a necessary evil when it came to your duties, it was the quickest way back to your lady’s chambers.
You kept your head down as you walked past the pair sparring, recognising the taller boy as Steffon, who you had already been warned of.
It had been relatively easy to ignore them both, all you would have to do is make it through the grounds and back inside the stone walls of the castle.
Or at least, it would have been easy to ignore them, had it not been for a harsh kick on Steffon’s part, colliding with Raymun’s chest, immediately sending the younger boy stumbling back and bumping into you.
Only able to watch as the stone carrier fell from your hands and crashed to the ground; you let out a frustrated cry as the stone shattered and water flooded across the ground.
Turning around, you watched as Steffon threw his head back and laughed, all while Raymun’s mouth hung open in shock, unable to say anything.
“Are you soft in the head?!” you snapped, hiking up your skirts and marching past Raymun and right towards Steffon.
Seemingly surprised that your anger was aimed at him and not his cousin, Steffon’s smile dropped.
“Are you going to go fetch more water from the well then?” you spoke, glaring up at the redhead.
“Calm down, it was an accident.” he brushed off, stepping past you and heading for the sword mounts.
Letting out a frustrated growl, you started back towards the direction of the well, only exchanging a brief glance with Raymun as you shoved past him.
-
It had been later in the night as everybody was gathered in the hall for supper when you had finally spoken to Raymun again.
A cider was placed in front of you on the table, and you looked up to see him standing there with an apprehensive gaze.
Rolling your eyes, you pushed the wooden cup away.
“I hate cider.” you muttered, resting your chin on your palm.
Letting out a huff, he ignored your hostility and sat across from you.
“I wanted to apologise.” he offered, only to receive an eyebrow raise from you in return.
Taking the silence as an opening for him to continue, Raymun sighed.
“No one’s stood up to Steffon that way before.. not even me..” he began.
“It wasn’t right what he did, and it wasn’t right of me to stand by and not say nothin’.”
“You’re right, it wasn’t.” you interrupted, only for Raymun to laugh softly.
“My cousin spoke to me, said I had to apologise to you, even if you were the one that hit me with the stick.”
“Except you deserved it.”
With that comment, it seemed that the tension between the two of you had subsided by the end of that night; no more glares shared across the dining hall, now replaced with lively conversation and laughter.
-
As the years continued to pass, it became clear very quickly that you and Raymun had been more similar than either of you initially thought, with a friendship quickly developing as you continued your years in Lady Fossoway’s service.
By the time you had reached the age of nine-and-ten, you and Raymun were as close as siblings.
“This is ridiculous.” you spoke from behind the embroidered changing wall.
“How am I meant to tell you what I think if I can’t see ya.” Raymun commented, snickering to himself.
Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you frowned, the gown had been sent by one of your brothers from back home, a present for your name day that had been at least a moon passed.
The bumblebee’s embroidered into the yellow silk were pretty, but oddly placed, it was clear that your brother had commissioned this dress with little effort.
Stepping out from behind the changing wall, you held your arms out and swished the fabric, pulling a face at the restrictive feeling of the garment.
Not helped by the way Raymun immediately began to crack up.
“It’s not funny!” you snapped, “i’m expected to wear this to tonight’s feast..”
It was meant to be a celebration of the recent battle that had been won by the Fossoway’s against a band of mercenaries that had been pillaging along their farmlands for the past few weeks, who had now been crushed by the house’s forces.
You had been given specific instructions to dress nicely by Lady Fossoway.
“At least you don’t have to shave..” Raymun muttered, running his fingers over the stubble that was beginning to come through.
Rolling your eyes, stepped back behind the changing wall and began to undo the strings at the back of the dress.
“Only because it’s taken you this long to start growing any facial hair.” you rebutted, earning a scoff from Raymun.
-
Entering the hall trailing behind your lady, your hair was framed with some intricate braids, small jewels hanging from them which your lady had insisted you borrow; the yellow silk trailing as you walked.
Lit up by candelabras hanging from the ceiling, the sound of music bounced off of the stone walls, accompanied by the chatter of voices.
There were mixes of deep laughter and the rumble of countless conversations, none of which you could decipher as you stood beside your lady while she greeted some of the guests from neighbouring houses.
Scanning the hall, you played with the fabric of your dress absentmindedly, taking in the banners with the sigil of the red apple that had been hung over the stone.
“You clean up nicely.” a voice from behind you sounded, making you jump slightly as you turned to see Raymun, freshly shaved and hair actually washed.
“Nice to see you actually took a bath.” you jabbed, earning an eye roll from him.
Snatching the cup of cider from his hand, you brought it to your lips and took a sip, the sweetened liquid washing down your throat.
“I thought you hated cider.” he spoke with a raised brow.
“I’ve grown to tolerate it, just as I tolerate you.”
Shaking his head, Raymun took the cider back and took another sip of his own.
There seemed to be something between the two of you tonight, a tension, not like when you were younger and couldn’t stand to be around each other, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t seem to.
With your lady’s attention being taken up by the large number of guests, you slipped into the crowd of people with Raymun at your side, grabbing a cup of your own and filling it with cider.
In all your time in service to House Fossoway, you had never seen the hall this filled; there were people everywhere you turned.
Swept up in the festivities, Raymun’s hand placed on your back was simply a welcome feeling that you leaned into without even thinking.
The night drew on as guests guzzled down more wine and cider than you thought humanly possible, and cheers and singing filled the hall; all of this while Raymun’s hand on your back became more of a grip.
He sang along with the other men as you laughed, he raised his glass and pulled you closer, the both of you feeling rather tipsy.
As the night began to come to a close, you had both ended up in the gardens; lit up by torches, you were both laughing and stumbling as you finally settled beside each other on one of the many stone benches.
“Oh seven hell’s, my head..” you laughed softly, placing a hand on your forehead only to feel how warm your skin was.
You weren’t certain what time it was, but it was early enough that the sky was beginning to turn a shade of blue that told you that it would likely only be a few more hours until the sun rose.
“We’ll be starting preparations for the journey to Ashford tomorrow..” Raymun groaned, realising that he would likely have to deal with minimal sleep and a headache for most of the next day.
“Will you be goin?” he asked, his voice suddenly seeming a deal more hopeful.
“Where my lady goes, I go.” you shrugged your shoulders.
Nodding his head, seemingly satisfied with your answer, Raymun held your gaze, the pair of you staying silent.
You truly hadn’t expected it, hadn’t been able to anticipate when he leaned forward and captured your lips on his own.
You didn’t make a sound when he kissed you, only sat still out of shock.
When Raymun pulled away, it was clear by his expression that he wasn’t certain how you were going to react, his nerves clear in his eyes as he looked at you.
Standing suddenly, you turned away, looking at the ground as you ran a finger over your lower lip.
“I’m sorry-“ he began, attempting to reach out for your hand, only to be scorned when you turned and began to walk away without a word, your strides long as to try and get away as soon as possible.
He didn’t call out for you, not that you heard at least, but you didn’t slow down, still walking back into the castle until you reached your chambers, swinging the wooden door open and letting it swing closed behind you as you stepped inside.
That was your first kiss; Raymun had leaned forward and stolen your first kiss without so much as a word.
Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as you looked in the mirror, suddenly pulling desperately at the strings on your silk gown, the constricting feeling of the garment now making you want to keel over.
Conflicted feelings swam throughout your belly, unsure how to feel about what the boy who you had considered your close friend had just done.
By the time you had managed to rip the dress off of your body and climbed under the covers of your bed, you were sniffling to sleep and hiding your face under the sheet, unwilling to face the day that was soon to come.
As well as the tourney you would be travelling to in only two days.
It's not just to have a "do over" that doesn't involve the original cast, it's to cut them out of the royalties. Literally the entire point is to make sure all the money made by Harry Potter goes to transphobes or people willing to work with transphobes.
If you watch it, you are supporting bigotry, hate, and oppression. That's just objective reality. All for a story that you probably have already seen in movie and book form.
#the last point is especially true since the old cast receives royalties for anything with their likeness on it#meaning the original trio still gets money for every mug with their 14 year old faces on it#if they stop making those and replace them with the new cast which they will the old cast gets cut off completely#which is again exactly what rowling wants because she cannot stand those 'ungrateful brats' as she would likely put it#and as she has last say in anything that gets made in harry potter paraphernalia this might also explain the decrease in faces on products
Likewise, the new all-star audio books featuring people like Keira Knightley, Riz Ahmed, Michelle Gomez, Simon Pegg, Nick Frost and more, only seem to have happened because Stephen Fry - who did all the original audio books - said he thought she radicalised and "was a lost cause" (x)
Guys. Stop rebloging nonstick broom. This is just some image I made years ago and found in my photos recently. I don’t want this to get big I beg of you
"who radicalized you" ever since i was a child i wanted other people to be treated nicely and fairly because i didnt understand why theyd deserve otherwise and it fills me with disgust seeing how people treat their fellow human beings sometimes
"how do you tell the difference between a whippet and an italian greyhound" simple. look at it head on. if it looks like a dog it's a whippet. if it's making a face like you've just threatened it with a firearm, it's an iggy
Extremely Important Update: in April 2023 the World Bird Sanctuary had an orphaned eagle chick in need of care, so they decided to see if Murphy could live up to his parental ambitions.
He successfully raised the chick, which is now thriving with the other juvenile eaglets!
Congrats Murphy, you made it happen through sheer determination.
(Pictures are from the Facebook page of the World Bird Sanctuary; I can’t link them directly because I don’t have a FB account and the site is a nightmare to interact with if you’re not logged in, constantly resetting and kicking you to registration pages.)
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