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riallasheng · 13 days

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Good day, Sheng I hope you've had a lovely day!

I was curious to know if you had any information on what the TB TOS boys studied and specialized in? Were they awarded with anything?

Hello my lovely anon! I apologize for the delay, but I was out visiting friends until late yesterday. ^^ I'm home again, which means I can dig through my novels and comics to answer this as best I am able!

Of the various sources, the official bios (there's at least 3 versions there of), the TV21 comics, and the Fleetway comics are the ones that are most likely to give the answers. There are also bits and bobs scattered around the various canon sources. Overall, I'm pulling mostly from the Fleetway for this, as it actually went the most into depth for what you're asking and while Fleetway / complete Thunderbirds Story DOES have some continuity / canonicity issues the education and specializations parts overall are solid.

Going in my preferred age order (because there's actually more than one XD )

This got long, so readmore deployed! ^^

Scott:

Given the ages involved, Scott skipped grades to one degree or another, because he seems to have graduated high school at 16-17 rather than 18. (Spoiler Warning: Gordon is the only Tracy that didn't skip grades. TinTin and Brains skip grades too, although Penny did not)

Scott seemingly went to a 'normal' college / university for ~2 years (Fleetway puts it as Tracy University, where Scott specialized in astronautics and got his astronaut wings, which at minimum DOES explain where / when Scott GOT his astronaut wings, which he DOES canonically have as all his official bios mention he is a trained astronaut and he is one of Three's canon pilots with a fair amount of knowledge / skill in space) as he doesn't start Yale until 18

At 18, Scott went to Yale for 2-3 years and finished his formal education at Oxford for 1-2 years (these numbers bounce around a bit in the various bios/mentions - though it being ~4 years in total is constant across all of them) and graduated top of his class - though not valedictorian or salutatorian, simply in the top 10 / top 5 - specializing in aeronautics / aeronautic engineering, mathematics, and navigation. We know he does have SOME education / degree in engineering as he the one that helps in designing / engineering / etc alongside Virgil. We also know he was heavily involved in the design of Thunderbird 1 and 2, with some refs to him being the primary designer on One. Scott definitely has a Bachelors and might have a Masters in one / two / all of his three degrees, but there's no indication that he has a Doctorate in anything. He seems to have had aeronautics / aeronautic engineering as his primary.

All of Scott's bios state that he served in the Air Force right out of College (so he would have joined at 22 to 23 years of age, then would have served 4-6 years). He was an officer, rather than enlisted, although his stated final rank ranges between Captain (of-3) to Colonel (of-6) so you likely can go with what you please there, although Scott IS referred to as a 'commanding officer' in the Air Force, which usually means Major (of-4), Lieutenant Colonel (of-5), or Colonel (of-6) though. We've no idea what his callsign would have been, though some fanon ones I've seen are Flyboy, Ace, Scooter, Falcon and Eagle. I use Mercury myself (Mercury Seven, and it refs his speed AND 'silver tongue'/communication skills)

There's multiple references to Scott serving in 'the War', although what War that is is VERY vague and hard to pinpoint. (Oddly, Fleetway using the 2020s timeline DOES make IDing the war in question easier... With Scott serving in his 20s, that would make the war in Fleetway the Global Conflict / WW3, which took place ~2010 and was how the Global Government / World Government formed.) For the most common 2060s timeline, it's really unclear what 'war' Scott would have been fighting in in the 2050s. outside of the confusion of 'what war', Scott was at minimum an 'ace' (5 kills in aerial combat / dogfighting), might have been an 'ace ace' (25+ kills) although that one MIGHT be a misprint where the word ace was accidently doubled, and there is a passing reference in either the novels or comics (I forget which ^^;; ) to him being 'War Ace', which is a title awarded to the 'best pilot / most skilled ace' in a war. So 'War Ace' is a potential accomplishment for him

He is officially a 'test pilot', and can fly pretty much anything / everything. It's mentioned he CAN fly the Tiger Moth so he can mange bi-planes, he apparently flew a stunt plane (so propeller), he's helicopter (and apparently helijet) certified, and he's flown a wide array of jets, rocket-planes, and space craft. (He has a pilot's license, helicopter / helijet license, and astropilot license). He has a Class-D (standard driver's) license, and he apparently knows how to drive a motorcycle so a Class-M license too. He might have a Class-B (farming equipment) license, and would have had a military license that functioned as a CBL (commercial) Class A/B/C license and might have gone through the work to get that again as a civilian. We do see Scott driving heavy equipment and the like when not 'IR' so he might have the commercial license. He has a non-commercial boating license, and miiiiight have a civilian submarine-craft license. Seems to have a diving license. Definitely has a sky-diving and paragliding license.

Scott somehow was given the Medal of Valor and quite possibly Medal of Honor as well. both are EXTREMLY difficult to achieve medals, almost always only given out in wartime, and we never are told what he did to achieve them

Scott retired in his 'late 20s' (probably around 28) 'with honors', which would mean an Honorable Discharge. That's right about when IR would be in the final set up stages / Tracy Island buildings and silos being built and the like.

It's strongly implied in the comics that Scott was a POW at some point, but nothing officially states it flat out. There's a vague refence to him having been shot down at some point in the comics as well. These have lead to the widespread fanon that Scott was a POW, usually in Bereznik. If this is the case, Scott would have a Purple Heart Medal and a Prisoner of War Medal. It also would explain why no one finds it odd that he retired as young / early as he did.

John:

Rather like Scott, John seems to have skipped grades, as he graduates High School at ~15 years of age (there's a VAGUE hint in TV21 that it might have been as low as 14. It's also implied to have been that low in Fleetway because John is only around 21 when he starts at Tracy University, AFTER finishing 6 years at Harvard).

While John has always been deeply interested in manned space flight and the heavens in general, his real passion (and career) is canonically in communications.

John starts attending Harvard University, and graduates as Valedictorian (he's top of his class, but there's a mention to him giving a speech at his graduation, which usually goes to Valedictorian) getting his degree in electronics and laser communications / communications in general. Since he wrote a thesis, he must have gotten a doctorate in ONE of these fields (likely communications)

John was HEAVILY involved in the design / building of IRs communications gear and might even have been the lead in it. both the 'listening in' and the 'communicating between each other' parts. He also seemingly was very heavily involved in the designing of TB5

He created a laser communications device that was 'revolutionary' and won him awards and accolades. (An achievement that was later stolen by Lt. Green in his bio... Spectrum bios had a VERY bad habit of stealing accomplishments of previously existing characters. In further example, Green also stole 'best communications officer / specialist WASP has ever had' from Phones, Harmony stole 'best pilot alive' from Scott, Grey stole 'back messed up and 4 months in hospital after a sub/high speed boat crash from Gordon AND 'first captain of the Stingray' from Troy, and Rhapsody stole quite a few of Penny's spy achievements)

John also located a previously unknown quasar, which became known as the Tracy Quasar System.

He's published at minimum 4 astronomy and outer-space textbooks, and at least 1 book on communications

After getting a doctorate in ~6 years at Harvard at 20-21 years of age, John then got his astronaut wings / became an astronaut. Fleetway puts him at Tracy University for this as well. (He might have been Valedictorian again, as he's referred to as being such for his astronaut training in... Countdown? I legit forget where the ref is. There's an implication that John was Valedictorian more than once, basically). All of the Tracys are genius level smart, but John seems to be the brightest star of them all

John worked on a civilian (or at least non-military) space station / space program for at least a few years. What group and station is debatable. It could be NASA, the World Space Program, etc. He further could have been on the International Space Station, Freedom Station, etc. The only things off the table are military groups, and he CAN'T have served in the World Space Patrol (Fireball XL5)

John has his pilot's license and space-pilot / astropilot license. He likely has a rocket-plane license (ie: a atmospheric craft that can escape the atmosphere and is space capable). He MIGHT have a helijet license, but he doesn't have a helicopter license. He has a Class-D (standard driver's) license, and he apparently knows how to drive a motorcycle so a Class-M license too. He might have a Class-B (farming equipment) license. He has a non-commerical boating license, and miiiiight have a civilian submarine-craft license. Seems to have diving license. Might have a sky-diving and paragliding license.

John also is a highly skilled athlete, having achieved many awards and records. We only know about him being involved in running, but WHAT KIND of running varies between sprinting (rare), long-distance (more commonly reffed) and cross-country (most commonly reffed), or trail or obstacle course (middling)

I'm not sure how John left his space career / stopped working on the space station without attracting attention, oddly he's the ONLY one that doesn't have an easy excuse for joining IR! Scott apparently had SOMETHING happen that gave him an honorable discharge and had no one questioning him retiring from the Air Force, Virgil apparently intended to work as an engineer FOR Jeff's company once he graduated, Gordon had the hydrofoil crash and an Honorable or Medical Discharge from WASP, and Alan was only 19 and hadn't really STARTED a career. TinTin either was just finishing her University education and/or like Virgil was working for Jeff's company as an engineer. Brains started working for Jeff at his company while Brains was still in college. John's the only one with a career outside of Jeff's company that DOESN'T have a coinvent 'stop working there' excuse.

Virgil:

continuing the running theme, Virgil seems to have skipped grades - more than Scott did, but less than John, graduating High School at 15-16.

Virgil started higher education at 16 at Denver School for Advanced Technology, but he's sometimes put in Yale or another Tech school. What his degree was varies. Fleetway has it as 'Advanced Technology', but he's also had Engineering / Nuclear Engineering listed in his official bios. He usually took art classes and music classes, and sometimes he has a degree in art or music mentioned, so he likely minored in art and/or music alongside his Advanced Technology / engineering major. He seems to have graduated at 20-21 with a Masters in Tech/Engineering and a Bachelors in art/music. There's no refences at all to him having a doctorate (only John and Brains have that), and while he seems to have been 'top of his class', there's no indication he was Valedictorian or Salutatorian. So, like Scott he would have been in the top 10 or top 5, but not the number 1 or 2 slots.

Fleetway claims that Virgil was on the Denver Football team and was a good player on it, but that is the only reference to it or sports in general. Something to remember is that Virgil is actually NOT the heaviest / buffiest in build of the brothers in TOS. He's well built, but Scott and Alan are both heavier /buffer in build than he is, as is his father. Virgil isn't LEAN, but he'd be a Middleweight, built sort of like Tony or tom Cruise or the like. Muscled, but not a brick house. Scott is consistantly referred to as 'powerful' in build, and is drawn as heavier / bulkier in muscles than Virgil. Heavyweight class or something like the traditional 'superman' build like Cavill or the like. Alan and Jeff are a bit more powerful / bulky in build than Scott, so upper end of the Heavyweight. Not modern day Body builder / the Hulk bulk, but say Hulk Hogan, Dwayne Johnson, Arnold in Terminator / Predator type build. Gordon is about Virgil's build / a swimmer's build. John is lean /lithe but not lanky. Built like a runner.

Virgil HAS sold art and had it on display at galleries, possibly even at a museum or two, which is quite the accomplishment. He's also played music semi-professionally, although I can't find or recall an refences to him winning awards or contests in music.

Like John, Virgil got his astronaut wings / went to a second school after his primary (Fleetway again puts this as Tracy University) and he seems to have gone to this second school when he was ~21. Fleetway has a fun incident where, while at Tracy U, he used his advanced technology degree to service a faulty space capsule during a training space-flight.

So far as I can tell, Virgil's plan was to graduate and work for Tracy Tech / Tracy Industries / whatever version of the MULTIPLE names that Jeff's company has you'd like to use XD upon graduation. He likely DOES officially work as an engineer for his Dad's company (his brothers as well) on top of IR duties.

Given when IR got started (September of 2065) and Virgil's age AND his graduation date(s), Virgil would have been working at Jeff's company for at least a couple of years before IR got started.

He has a Class-D (standard driver's) license, but no Class-M / motorcyle that we're aware of. He ABSOLUTELY has a Class-B (farming equipment) license, and has a CBL (commercial) Class A/B/C license. We know he has a pilot's license. While he has his astronaut wings, he might not have an astropilot license, but he would at least he have a 'limited' one - equivalent of a 'student driver' where he can be a co-pilot but not a solo. He has a helicopter and helijet license. Seems to have both a commerical and non-commerical boating license. Seems to have a civilian submarine craft license. Might have a diving license. Probably has a skydiving and paragliding license.

Gordon:

Only one of the brothers NOT to skip grades, as he goes straight from High School to WASP Academy at ~18.

Gordon was showing skill in swimming at only 3 years of age, and joined a professional swim team as early as possible (13 or so, though he would have been on school swim teams / training prior to that)

Gordon was one of, if not the, fastest freestyle swimmers in his prime. We know he won Gold in the Olympics for the Butterfly Stroke at 16 (Considering his birthyear, he might actually have been 17 given the years the Olympics fall on). We know he also got other awards / medals, but we can take it as fact that his only Olympic Gold was this. He might have gotten Silver and Bronze in other races. However given the 4 year gaps, this would have been the ONLY Olympics Gordon took part in - he would have been too young for the previous, and the ones after would be either after his hyrdofoil accident or IR.

Gordon went from high school straight into WASP. He probably was 18, buuuuuuuut there are hints that Gordon might have served in whatever War Scott and Phones and Troy and others in that age group fought in, so Gordon MIGHT have been able to sign up for WASP at 17 and basically before he graduated high school. To quickly explain, while you can sign up for the military at 17 with a guardian's permission for most branches… submarine service (and thus WASP) is not one of them, as it's strictly volunteer and 18+. You have to VOLUNTEER to be on a sub, and outside of wartimes you must be 18 or older. Thus IF, and only if, there was a 'War' on, Gordon could have joined WASP at 17.

Gordon was put in command of a bathyscape, which means he was an officer. You usually have to be 19 to become an officer / begin officer training BUT you can start at 18 during wartimes so... Gordon would have started his officer training at 18-19 and become an officer at 19-20. We've no mention of what rank Gordon was at his retirement, but to command a submarine, even a bathyscape, he has to have been a Lieutenant-Commander (of-3) minimum, but he can't have been more than a Captain (of-5) as he wasn't part of the admiralty. I make him a Commander (of-4) because I am an old geek woman and I love him having the rank level of 4 XD

While in WASP, Gordon came up with a revolutionary and unique underwater breathing apparatus... it's implied that the scuba gear we see used in Stingray are the ones that Gordon designed. Gordon later improved these for IR.

Gordon was in a high speed hyrdofoil crash (I know it says 400 mph, but I honestly would prefer it to have been going FAR slower... 400 km/h maybe XD ) that almost killed him, injured his back, and left him in a WASP hospital for 4 months (note that is his FULL TIME in the hospital, including his initial / in hospital Physical Therapy). The crash happened VERY recently, btw, like two years MAX before the pilot episode, but no less than a year and a half prior to the pilot, so it would have happened no earlier than Sept 2063 and no later than Mar 2064. A lot of fans give him lingering physical issues from this (heck I'm one of them), BUT it's important to remember that we see Gordon getting up to fairly normal physical activities in all canon material (even Fleetway where his accident is directly mentioned / shown), so he is not HEAVILY impacted by this. If he has chronic pain, it's mild for instance. If he throws his back out on occasion, it's rare and he recovers quickly, etc.

He has a military boating and submarine license, as well as a non-commercial boating license and civilian submarine-craft license. he miiiiiight have a commercial boating license, but he's never shown with commercial craft so *shrug emoji*. he ABSOLUTELY has a diving license. He has a Class-D (standard driver's) license. He might have a Class-B (farming equipment) license, and would have had a military license that functioned as a CBL (commercial) Class A/B/C license and might have gone through the work to get that again as a civilian. Likely has a piloting license, might have a helicopter and helijet license.

Alan:

Alan was interested in both car racing and space from a young age (and unlike TaG, it looks like he actually had a stronger interest in CARS than in rockets). He seems to have skipped grades, as he was in college by 15 years of age as he was far enough into his astronaut training to be in space at 16 as one of Alan's accomplishments is that he is the youngest astronaut / lunarnaut known, having been either in space OR on the moon (or at minimum he got his astronaut wings) at only 16 years of age AND he still holds the record for highest number of passes and holds the current record for graduating in record time.

It looks like Alan went first to college for his astronaut wings (Fleetway has it as Tracy University) and likely got a Bachelors, graduating at 16 years of age.

He then went to another school (Fleetway lists Colorado Tech / Denver Tech) and got a Masters at 17 (maaaaybe 18). WHAT he got it in varies wildly across canon sources though. He's got astronatical engineering, space travel, CAR engineering / design, and communications listed. So likely pick and choose as ye please. I personally go for Vehicular (car) and astronautical engineering. To be totally honest, I'd replace the Tech school with a Racing Academy and have it where Alan got a Bachelors in astronatical engineering at Tracy University at 16, and a second Bachelors in Vehicular Engineering & Design at a Racing School at 17, then went from there to join the World Space Patrol Astopilot Academy for 1-2 years before going back to his racing career for the 1-2 years before he joins IR

Alan then joined the World Astronaut Patrol Academy... aka the military branch that Fireball XL5 is part of. Alan was in the Astropilot program, but for unknown reasons in canon, he left WSP / Astropilot program before graduating when he was still 18. To solve this issue, I replaced one of the astronovices in the Fireball comic story 'The Astronovices' with Alan, as that would have given him a General or Dishonorable Discharge. Alan DOES hold the record for youngest Astronovice as he joined at ~17 or so, and he apparently was pretty likely to be one of the few to pass the grueling requirements and graduate (seriously, out of an intake of 200 potentials, less that 25 graduate for each 2-3 year training cycle).

Alan started his racing career while still in college, likely starting driving at 16-17 as it's said he's been racing for 'a few years' when he wins Pararola at 19/20. He probably paused the racing career for the 1-2 years he was in the Astronovice program, then resumed it at 18 when he left WSP (for whatever reason he DID leave). He apparently has a few wins / medals in racing under his belt and left a successful racing career to join IR, although he WAS young enough (only 19) that him deciding to join Jeff's company as a vehicle engineer who occasionally tests the vehicles the company makes likely wouldn't draw too much attention. (Alan was a 'champion' race driver and officially a car designer by the time he joined IR at 19.)

He ABSOLUTELY has a Class-D (standard driver's) license, and seemingly has a Class-M / motorcyle, and obviously has a SCCA (racing) license. He might have a Class-B (farming equipment) license, but that's debatable. We know he has a pilot's license. He might have a helicopter license, but we never once see him piloting a helicopter. He's a bit more likely to have his helijet license. He ABSOLUTELY has an astropilot license, even if he didn't get the military / Fireball craft license. Seems to have a non-commerical boating license and a civilian submarine craft license. Has a diving license. Probably has a skydiving and paragliding license. Certainly has a rocket-plane (aka astmospheric craft that can escape gravitational pull and is space capable) license.

If anyone wants, I'll do these for TinTin, Brains and Penny - I'll even try it for Jeff, Kyrano, and Grandma Tracy, although we have FAR less to go on for them

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sluttywonwoo · 2 years

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Svt react to another member finding nude Polaroid photos of you

this is gonna be a little different than my other reactions!! since it’ll be a little longer, i’m gonna divide it up into hyung and maknae lines so someone pls send another ask if you want maknae line!!!

seungcheol: “oh so this is what you guys do on your days off,” jeonghan shouts from the other side of the room, effectively getting his leader’s attention. seungcheol doesn’t even need to see the front of the polaroid to know what his friend is looking at. he’s lunging across the room and snatching his wallet out of jeonghan’s hands before he can get another word in and smacking him with his free hand just for good measure. “why were you looking at that?” he hisses furiously, tucking your photo back into the pocket. “it’s not like i was searching for it on purpose! i just wanted to borrow some money…”

jeonghan: he really should’ve remembered to clean his room… or at least hide some of the things he had laying around in his room. because now chan is ogling the polaroids of you in lingerie that he has hanging up on his wall and jeonghan simply cannot have that. he’d invited the younger member over to play video games and it was all backfiring on him. he would swiftly snatch the photos off of the wall and tuck them away in his closet, glaring at his friend who’d apologize sheepishly. to be fair, it was jeonghan’s fault for hanging them up. it’s not your fault you’re so fucking hot.

joshua: “oh fuck, no no no…” joshua is rifling through his wallet in a panic, looking for that nude you’d given him for ‘safe keeping’ ages ago. he always kept it on him, always kept it hidden away in between the leather seams for when he… needed it. and now it was gone. “are you looking for this?” the voice belongs to seungkwan. joshua recognizes it immediately and whips his head in the direction it came from to see his friend holding the polaroid between two fingers. “where’d you find that?” joshua demands. seungkwan sighs before answering. “on the floor. you really should be more careful with stuff like that.”

jun: wonwoo’s smirking and jun can’t figure out why. that is, until he sees the back of his phone and realizes your tits are on display of everyone to see. he’d forgotten that he took the other polaroid of you, the safe, family-friendly one of both of you, out of his phone case this morning to give to you for your phone. “what the hell, man?” jun mumbles with irritation. “were you really not going to say anything?” wonwoo shrugs. “wanted to see how long it’d take you.”

soonyoung: “why do you have pictures of pictures in your camera roll?” soonyoung leans over seokmin’s shoulder see what he’s referring to when he realizes it’s a picture he’d taken of the nude polaroids you’d given him for your anniversary. soonyoung yanks his phone out of seokmin’s hand without answering. “i was just showing you videos of rehearsal! why did you scroll through my gallery?” “that’s not an answer.”

wonwoo: wonwoo keeps lots of pictures of you in his car. he just likes to have you with him wherever he goes. and yes, some of those happen to be nudes. which vernon comes across when he’s searching for napkins in wonwoo’s glove compartment. “whoa,” he exclaims and whistles. wonwoo almost swerves off the road when he sees what vernon’s found instead of napkins. “do you really jerk off while you drive? that’s dangerous.” the older man is seeing red at this point. “give me those!”

jihoon: “soonyoung for the last time, you can’t just use my studio without asking-” jihoon stops in his tracks when he sees what his best friend is holding. “really? you guys fuck in here? that’s kinda messed up. and you keep the evidence in here too? seems like a recipe for disaster if you ask me-” jihoon certainly wasn’t about to admit to soonyoung that he did in fact fuck you in the studio, nor was he about to admit he kept the polaroids in there for ‘inspiration’. he was already turning red from the way he was seething with anger, he didn’t need the blush of embarrassment on top of it. “well, good thing i didn’t ask you. now get out.”

#answered #anon #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen reaction #seventeen reactions #svt reactions

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theforgottenmcrmy · 2 years

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From This Day, Part 2/2 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is a Part 2/2, and an overall Part 5 of an ongoing series. Part 1-4 can be found on the "Growing Strong” Masterlist, which is pinned on my blog. For some reason, my public tags aren’t working today when I try to link those two posts here. ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: PLEASE READ. In addition to the GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, violence, and references to the death of parent(s), there is also a scene that gets a bit 🔥 . No explicit language or descriptions are used, but it’s also pretty clear on what’s about to go down, so... fair warning. Honestly, I think it’s kinda tasteful 🔥 that fits the language and themes of the story so far, but I didn’t want to not say anything about it either, just in case.

Word Count: N/A because I get in my head about it and it makes me self conscious.

A/N: Part 2! Why do I find the damn GOT Faith of the Seven Vows so romantic? Like😅... I HIGHLY recommend listening to the I Am Hers, She Is Mine score while reading this, especially after the first scene. I’d link it, but then my public tags wouldn’t work, so😢

Anyways, thank you all for the support🖤 I hope you enjoy, and that you have a great rest of the week!

“What in the gods’ name is the meaning of this?!”

In the blink of an eye, the young lord was quickly yanked away from you and shoved up against the wall beside you instead. Lord Loreon groaned in protest to the swift action.

“Tyrell!”

“You dare try to stake a claim on my sister?!”

“Lady Y/N!”

Before you could begin to make sense of what was happening, Harwin was before you. Though seeing him usually brought you great comfort, he looked deeply troubled, and there was anger in his eyes that you had yet to witness personally.

“Did he lay a hand on you?” he asked you directly.

Lord Loreon scoffed, “I most certainly did not!”

“Silence!” your brother barked at him.

You were stunned into a momentary silence, but when you realized that Ser Harwin would not make a further move until you responded, you did so. “No, no. He didn’t.”

Ser Harwin looked as though he wanted to say more, but he relented, either accepting your statement as truth, or simply not wishing to argue. The anger in his eyes began to fade, leaving only concern.

“Y/N!” Princess Rhaenyra exclaimed, pulling you to her side and away from the wall. She looked you over, rapidly searching for any physical signs of distress. “Are you alright?”

It was then that you realized the presence of Lord Jason.

“Tyrell, you get your hands off my son, now!” he snarled.

You turned your attention to his line of sight, and were shocked by the scene before you.

Your brother had Loreon pinned up against the wall, with his forearm pressing tightly against his throat. Ser Harwin purposefully placed himself between Lord Jason and Derron, preventing the former from intervening in any sort of way. His position also put a sizable barrier between you and the squirming Lannister boy… perhaps that was also an intention of his, you supposed.

Regardless, even off the tourney field, it seemed as though the alliance between your brother and your betrothed was one that would be long-lasting.

Derron ignored Lord Jason’s order, and instead, gave one of his own to his captive. “Now you may speak, My Lord. Explain yourself, so that I may decide how best to deal with you.”

“She approached me!” Lord Loreon squealed. To your brother’s credit, the young lord did not appear to be struggling for air… but he wasn’t able to move, either. “I only met her here upon her request!”

Insulted most deeply, you snapped, “That is a gross lie!”

The Princess shushed you, but you were too impassioned to stop now. You would not let your name and reputation be soiled by the likes of Loreon Lannister- especially not in front of Ser Harwin.

“I was informed that the Princess wanted to speak with me privately, and that I was to meet her at once,” you explained. “I waited for her here for quite some time, until he approached me!”

“She’s lying!” Lord Loreon fumed, his rage rampant. “You little-”

“Mind your tongue!” Ser Harwin ordered him threateningly in a low voice. “Or else you’ll lose it.”

Loreon gasped.

“Harwin!” Lord Lyonel scolded, coming to stand beside Lord Jason. You just realized his presence too, but he looked about as desperate for answers as the other men and Princess Rhaenyra. He looked at you next. “Lady Y/N- please, continue. What happened then?”

“He tried to convince me to run away with him, and said we could leave King’s Landing tonight.”

Lord Loreon fumed, “That is what you asked for!”

“It most certainly is not!”

Though he was unable to move his neck or head, Lord Loreon, with great struggle, managed to retrieve a piece of parchment from his coat. Ser Harwin stepped aside just enough for his father to reach and grab it from the young Lannister.

The entire group watched as Lord Lyonel read the letter with a blank face. After a moment, he announced, “It appears to be a rather… blunt, passionate letter, from Lady Y/N, requesting just as Lord Loreon says…”

The blood drained from your face.

“It is a farce,” Ser Harwin denounced vehemently. “I am certain of it!”

You were heartened by his quick and staunch defense of you. Most other men might have assumed the worst, but- as you were constantly forced to remind yourself- Harwin was not like most men.

“Let me see that,” Princess Rhaenyra commanded, accepting the letter from the Lord Hand and reading it herself. When she was done, she laughed shortly. “This is not even Lady Y/N’s hand!”

“What?” Lord Loreon gasped.

“Lady Y/N has been writing letters for me for the better part of a year,” Princess Rhaenyra reminded the group. She was confident, and her tone left absolutely no room for question. “I can choose it amongst others from sight alone. I assure you, this letter is not written in her hand. Nor would I ever believe her to be capable of such a thing.”

You were humbled by Princess Rhaenyra rising to your defense as well.

“May I, Your Grace?” Lord Jason asked, eyeing the parchment suspiciously. Princess Rhaenyra handed it over to him wordlessly, and his eyes rapidly scanned over the contents. When he was finished, they rolled as he groaned tiredly. “Seven Hells, Son!” he exclaimed to Loreon. “I cannot believe you fell for this, you fool! The language alone…”

Derron took the letter from Lord Jason with a flourish, though he otherwise remained still, keeping Loreon pinned to the wall. Your brother read the letter, and scoffed. To the young lord, he questioned mockingly, “You actually believed my sister would write you such a thing?!”

Derron held the letter out to Ser Harwin to take, but your betrothed made no move to do so. Instead, he looked over at you. Though he had defended you thus far, part of you expected to find disappointment lingering in his eyes. However, there simply was none to be found.

“There is no need for me to read it,” he decided out loud, his eyes never wavering from your own. “For even if it was written by Lady Y/N’s hand, I know it could not possibly be true.”

Your heart felt as though it might burst from your chest.

“Y/N?” your brother offered then.

“I have no desire to read it, either,” you said, eyes still locked with Harwin’s. “It is a complete fabrication that I wish to give no further merit to by entertaining it further.”

Ser Harwin was the one to finally break away. He turned back to your brother, and put a hand on his shoulder. Your brother huffed once more, probably out of disbelief than anything else, before begrudgingly removing his arm from Lord Loreon’s neck.

The young man scrambled away from Derron and over to his father, but the other man looked no more pleased with him.

“It would seem,” Lord Lyonel began, garnering everyone’s attention, “That someone has decided to play a cruel trick upon us this evening.”

“A trick?” Derron repeated dumbfoundedly. “It was a trick that My Lord sought to lay a hand on my sister? And on the night before her wedding, no less?”

“My son was foolish,” Lord Jason admitted, though he sounded pained in doing so. “But you are not innocent, either. You have accosted my son, without knowing the full extent of what led him here!”

Your brother ignored Lord Jason entirely. Instead, he looked at you expectantly. “It is you who was wronged, and so it shall be your decision, Sister. What would you have us do with him?”

Lord Loreon looked between your brother and Ser Harwin with a mixture of pure shock and fear. He attempted to make a small step closer towards his father subtly, as if seeking safety, but failed.

You looked at the sorry excuse for the future patriarch of House Lannister pitifully.

And that’s when it hit you.

“Let him go.”

Your brother’s eyebrows shot up. “What?!”

Harwin looked at you carefully, but it was more out of interest than protest.

“You shall do nothing to him,” you insisted firmly. “Each family has made a grievance upon the other tonight… but it shall go no further than this. Whoever devised this trick-” - plot - “-shall receive no satisfaction from their efforts whatsoever.”

It was quiet for a moment as everyone present mused over your suggestion.

“Lady Y/N is wise beyond her years,” Lord Lyonel finally declared, stepping up on your behalf. “Perhaps, given the extenuating circumstances, and the fact that both Lady Y/N and Lord Loreon appear to have suffered no serious harm… Perhaps it is best that we all return to the feast at once, and forget this entire farce ever occurred.”

You could tell your brother was not so inclined to agree, but he had little choice in the matter when the Princess offered her own opinion.

“I agree with the Lord Hand,” Princess Rhaenyra announced decisively. “None of us shall speak of this matter ever again… And, should word about any of this begin to travel, we will know whom to look to for answers. Do we have everyone’s word?”

The reasoning, from everyone who had offered it, was sound. After a few moments, everyone nodded their heads in silent agreement.

“Let us return to the feast, then,” Derron encouraged, albeit half-bitterly. “Perhaps we shall all test the limits of what memories the finest wine from the Reach can blur.”

Your brother angrily tossed the piece of parchment into a nearby hanging torch.

Later that evening, you returned to your chambers, thoroughly exhausted, emotionally and physically.

You sat upon your bed, and begrudgingly removed your shoes from your sore feet. As the shoes fell to the ground with a soft thud, light knocks rasped against the door.

You quickly strode across the room, and cracked it open.

It was Ser Harwin.

Wordlessly, you opened the door a touch wider to allow him entry. He slipped inside, and you shut the door as silently as you could manage behind him.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you told him, not yet turning to face him.

“Do you not wish to see me?”

“It is not that,” you disagreed, slowly placing your tired hands upon the wooden door. “I am only worried that someone else will have taken notice of you coming here.”

“They have yet to notice thus far,” Ser Harwin reminded you patiently, and you could practically hear the small mischievous smile playing upon his lips.

It was true. Since your betrothal was made official, Harwin had begun to visit you late at night in your chambers. At first, it only started when he was due to go off on patrol out in the city, as was one of his duties as a member of the City Watch. He would stop by, you could converse freely and openly, and then he would be on his way. The visits slowly but surely grew in frequency, and now, it was not unusual for your betrothed to pay you late night visits several days of the week.

If anyone else were to discover what was occuring, there would be serious repercussions, and both of your reputations would be tainted. Perhaps yours more so than his. Harwin had voiced this concern to you, and you heard him out when he did. But ultimately, neither of you wanted to sacrifice the time the two of you were able to share. And so, you had mutually agreed to be even more especially discreet about it.

Nothing had ever… happened, between the two of you during the late night visits, though the environment around you had gotten a bit heated on the occasion. The focus had always been the ability to be open and speak plainly with the other without an escort, and it was that intent that kept the two of you wanting to continue, despite the risks.

Besides the fact that it was the night before your wedding, you had not expected him to visit you tonight… not after everything that had happened.

When you finally turned around to face him, Ser Harwin immediately did a double take. “Were you crying, My Lady?”

Hot tears you hadn’t even realized you allowed to form fell down your cheeks. Your face heated with mild embarrassment as you swiped them away briskly. “It is nothing.”

It was a bold, blatant lie.

But Ser Harwin knew that.

There was still a bit of distance between you, closer than there normally would have been. But despite the additional leniency, Harwin still had to look down at you to see your face. When he did, you saw that his own expression was riddled with nothing but the utmost sympathy and worry.

“If you do not wish to see me, you need only say the word,” he said, politely offering to excuse himself once more. “I only wished to ensure that all was well… or rather, as well as it can be.”

You knew with complete certainty that you did not want him to leave. But after everything that had transpired that evening, when the man who claimed to love you so greatly confirmed the notion as fact by openly showing nothing but complete trust in and concern for you… It was overwhelming.

“You are… inconceivable, Ser Harwin.”

His concern was muddied by confusion. “... I beg your pardon, My Lady?”

“We have just escaped ruin by the skin of our teeth, and you are more concerned with how I am feeling than trying to discover who orchestrated the vile ‘trick’ we nearly fell prey to.”

“It is not that I do not care about that,” Ser Harwin corrected. “I simply care about your well being more.”

You sighed. Whether it was out of tiredness or frustration, you were not sure. You said nothing, and your eyes fell to the floor. The stone felt pleasantly cool beneath your feet, but it was not nearly enough to cure what ailed you.

The only thing- or someone rather- that could cure you was standing just several feet away. Close, and yet so far.

“... Y/N?”

Upon hearing your betrothed call out your name so tenderly, you had no choice but to look him in the eyes once more. Once you did, you caved.

Wordlessly, he opened his arms, holding them outwards to you. The facade of pleasant exchanges shattered, leaving nothing but raw emotion in its wake.

You rushed forward in long strides, casting aside any sense of propriety or fear of further embarrassing yourself. When you reached Ser Harwin, you threw your arms in a vice-like grip around him, and buried your face in his chest.

In response, he let out a soft grunt- but you reasoned that had more likely to do with his aches and bruises from the tourney than anything else. Your eyes widened guilty as you pulled away, apologies for causing him further discomfort already on the tip of your tongue. But before you could say a word, Harwin pressed a hand to your back, and promptly pulled you towards him and into the embrace once more.

You hid your smile by pressing your face further into his chest. With one hand remaining on the small of your back, his other hand reached up to lightly cup the back of your head. You dug your fingers into the back of his doublet as firmly as you dared.

The nearly crippling sense of overwhelmingness you felt faded into the night. Ser Harwin had the uncanny ability to bring a calmness out of you that you never would have guessed was possible… though you would always feel indebted to him for it.

After several minutes of extremely comfortable silence, Harwin was the first to pull away. He allowed himself enough room to look down at you lovingly, but his arms made no move to let you go any further out of reach than what was necessary. Not that you would have wished to leave them, anyway.

“Better?” he prodded gently.

You looked up at him, resting your chin upon his chest. “Very much so.”

The hand that rested upon the back of your head traveled, several of its fingers coming to cup your chin instead. Ser Harwin leant down slowly, and placed a ghostly trace of a kiss upon your lips.

You blinked as the gesture left you feeling a bit dazed. Before you could playfully lash at him for teasing you so, he continued.

“I hope you can forgive me for delaying your rest,” Ser Harwin apologized. “I knew that sleep would not claim me tonight, not unless I was able to speak with you first.”

“There is nothing to forgive, My Lord.”

His hand shifted to cradle the side of your face. Though Ser Harwin held you within both of his arms, everything about his facial expression and body language suggested that you were the one who had true control of the situation you two were entangled in.

“Shall I be on my way, then?” he asked of you then, uncertainly.

You reached up and tapped his chin lightly with your forefinger. “There is no need for that… unless you wish to leave.”

“I do not.”

“Very well. Stay.”

In the aftermath of your particularly serious moment, the return of your light hearted exchanges left the both of you feeling a bit out of place. Slowly, so as not to give him any cause to perceive offense, you removed yourself from Ser Harwin’s arms. He let you go without protest.

You gestured to the table and chairs at the very edge of the room, just before the balcony. The two of you seated yourselves wordlessly, and you offered him some wine.

“Lord Derron will be having an unpleasant enough time in the morning,” Ser Harwin politely declined. “I would not burden you with another charge to look after.”

Despite yourself, you laughed.

Your brother, just as he had suggested, had taken to drowning in his cups after everyone returned to the feast. You let him be at first, seeing that it was harmless enough. But when Derron attempted to make a speech- the same speech he had already made hours before, but this time with the addition of colorful inebriated musings- you were forced to ask a cousin to escort him safely to his chambers to retire for the evening.

You planned to chastise your brother in the morning for threatening to make a fool of himself at the feast. But still, you knew just how likely you were to hold your tongue. Derron had also been struggling with the passing of your father, and in addition, he had been weighed down by his new responsibilities as well. Regardless of whether you would be the one to dole it upon him, Derron would learn his lesson from this night, of that you were sure.

“Well,” you began, suppressing a smile, “I thank you for that.”

Just outside the open archways leading to the balcony in front of you, a night’s view of King’s Landing waited. Despite the lateness of the hour, plenty of lanterns and torches were lit, and the noise of the city, though fainter than it would have been underneath sunlight, was still audible. The city was very much alive. Above the city was a black sky, only interrupted by stars, cold and distant, and the morose, solitary illumination of the moon.

You peeked over at Ser Harwin through your lashes. Thankfully, his attention was still focused on the view before you. You dared to wonder if you would ever find yourself in a scene like this again… Though you could have easily lived without the troubles that had resulted later on in the feast, you wouldn’t have traded the moment you were in for anything else in the world. Is this what the future held for you? Countless evenings, spent quietly, or not, with the one man who seemed to know you better than you knew yourself at times?

You desperately hoped so.

“Are you frightened?”

Ser Harwin tore his focus away from the view of the city, and returned it to you. When you said nothing, opting to wait patiently for him to elaborate further, he did so.

“It appears that someone among these halls does not wish us to be wed.”

Not someone, but several people came to mind.

You could ascertain many reasons as to why certain people among the Red Keep, and beyond, would not wish the two of you to be wed. The potential motives were infinite, and were made even more daunting by the fact that you were likely to remain in the dark about them forever. In the morning, you and Ser Harwin would pledge yourself to the other in the Great Sept of Baelor in front of your family, friends, esteemed guests, and other less than genuine attendees. And by then, it would be made clear that whoever had orchestrated the foul plot with Lord Loreon Lannister with the intention of causing a scandal and ruining the wedding would have gone through all that work for nought.

“Does the thought of that frighten you?” Harwin pried again curiously.

Whatever your answer was to be, you knew he would accept it without question. So there was no reason why you could not speak the truth. “It did, at first… But not anymore.”

“No? What changed?”

“Being here with you,” you confessed proudly, and without any shame. Then, you wondered out loud, “Are you aware of how much you affect me? Do you know just how grounded and calmed I am whenever you’re near?”

The revelation that fell over your betrothed’s face indicated that he had an inkling of an idea, but did not know of the full extent that you had just described.

You concluded, “I find myself having very little to fear with you by my side, My Lord.”

Harwin beamed. “That is most fortunate, My Lady, as I do not intend to stray from it.”

Though someone, whose identity and motive were still very much unknown, had conspired against you earlier that evening, the feeling was simply grand when the tables finally turned. There was a new-found sense of camaraderie with Ser Harwin, as the two of you conspired with one another, together, instead.

“Do you love me?”

Visible confusion flooded his face. Still, he answered. “With everything I am, and hope to be, My Lady.”

You didn’t doubt that, but wondered, if it were even possible, if your love for him ran even deeper than that. You told him as much. Then, feeling emboldened, you declared slyly, “So, I dare say, if someone wishes to divide us: let them try.”

Ser Harwin chuckled, and shook his head.

Your confidence wavered at his peculiar reaction. “What is it?”

He settled down, and sat up straighter in his seat. There was something intense about Harwin’s eyes when they locked with yours, then… something enticing, if not downright seductive, lingered in his usually calming irises.

“Since our betrothal, several people have made jokes at my expense,” he disclosed to you. “It’s been harmless- mostly jests thrown out about the training yard. But they ask me, ‘What business does Ser Breakbones have with a Tyrell?’ They thought my father might arrange for me to marry someone from the Riverlands, or even the North… Not a ‘flower’, from the South, as they so impolitely put it.” Harwin’s eyes looked glossy, as if he was recalling the scenes vividly. Then, the veil lifted, and he looked at you with sudden resolve. “But they underestimate you. And they fail to see something I have known about you all along.”

“And what is that?” you wondered, genuinely curious.

“Despite your outward appearance, in your heart, you are a fighter. Just as I am.”

Your eyes threatened to shine with tears once more.

“Roses have thorns,” he proclaimed. “I pity the men who would dare to forget that… and I pray that I am never one of them.”

“If that happens, you’ll have plenty of years to make it up to me, good fortune permitting.”

“Trust me, My Love- I look forward to it.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence once again. In your mind’s eye, you pictured what you had just alluded to. Growing old together. Traveling from King’s Landing to Harrenhal, and even to the Reach, year after year. Would you have a family? That had yet to be seen. But, at the very least, you would have one another. A few years, decades, every single day for the rest of your life… With a strange sense of sadness, you realized that no amount of time with Harwin on this mortal earth would ever be enough.

“... I could still pummel the Lannister boy, if you wish. Merely say the word, and it shall be done.”

You were shocked by just how plainly your betrothed proposed such a thing. His tone was conversational, as though he had offered to pass you a dish whilst dining together. Not as though he had just threatened to bludgeon the oldest son and heir of the Lord of Casterly Rock.

“Harwin!”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “You’re my lady wife- how could I ever forget such an atrocity that was committed against you?”

“Nothing happened, Dearest,” you reminded him patiently. It was true; the ordeal had scared you, perhaps terribly so. But physically, you were unharmed. And yet, as much as you dreaded the thought of him causing further strife between your families and the Lannisters, the thought of Harwin willing to go such lengths for you made your heart flutter. But you would not feed into it. “And, I am not yet your lady wife, as we are not yet wed.”

“That is of little import, My Love,” Harwin dismissed briskly. “For how long you have held my heart, a ceremony feels like a simple formality at most.”

You fought the urge to smile, not wanting to encourage him further. “We cannot just go breaking the bones of the Lannister boy, especially not whilst the reason behind your assault could not be truthfully explained to the Court.”

Ser Harwin's face fell, and he pursed his lips thoughtfully. He knew you made a fair point.

After a moment, you added, “And we cannot go about breaking the bones of anyone else who wrongs us, either.”

Ser Harwin eyed you cautiously. “There will be others.”

“I know.”

Your betrothed was no fool. He was more than aware of the dangerous environment in which he lived.

Harwin was the oldest son of the Hand of the King… a position that the Queen’s father had been stripped of unceremoniously. Lord Lyonel Strong was loyal to three things: his family, the realm, and King Viserys. In that order. He could not be bought with money or promises of power, but he could be swayed by the well-being of his children. You were a lady in waiting to Princess Rhaenyra… and, dare you say it, a close friend. The Tyrells and Hightowers had struggled for power and influence in the Reach since Harlen Tyrell bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. When King Viserys passed, there would be little doubt as to where the support of House Tyrell would fall in the matter of succession, unless you were to sway it.

You were likely to have enemies rising against you individually. Once the two of you were wed, it would be a certainty. They’d come in troves.

“As you said earlier- ‘let them try’,” Harwin challenged. “I shall consider our wedding tomorrow the first of many victories against the shadows that work against us.”

The reaffirmation of the event that was set to begin in just a few hours brought to mind your reservations that you had discussed with Princess Rhaenyra the day before. You wondered if your love shared in your nerves. “Are you ready for it? … For the wedding, I mean.”

“In my heart, I have been ready since the day I realized you’d stolen it from me.”

You blushed.

“... In my mind, I may be a bit worried about blundering the vows in front of the High Septon.”

You laughed once, both amused and touched by his honesty.

“What about you, My Lady? Are you prepared?”

“For the vows? I believe so.”

Ser Harwin was an observant man- you’d never fault him that. He noticed the careful way you answered his question immediately, and the way at which you suddenly refused to meet his gaze.

“Something troubles you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

You bit your bottom lip gently, the nerves rushing back to you all at once. Still, you were an honest woman, and you knew Harwin deserved nothing less. “Yes.”

Your heart wrenched when a look of sadness flushed over his face. “Are you having doubts about this marriage, Lady Y/N?”

“No.” Your hand shot across the table, intertwining with one of his own to emphasize the gravity of your words. “Not at all.”

“Then what ails you, My Love?”

You struggled for a moment how to voice your concern diplomatically. But when you felt Hawin’s fingers tracing over the palm of your hand, you were hastily reminded of whom you were speaking to. His eyes held no judgment, only care.

“I do not have any doubts about marrying you,” you repeated firmly. “But I am a bit nervous as to what comes… after.”

Harwin’s face was blank. “The feast?”

“After the feast.”

“Oh.” Realization washed over his face like the incoming waves along the shoreline of Blackwater Bay. “Oh.”

You lowered your gaze bashfully. “Yes.”

Harwin’s grip on your hand tightened, encouraging you to look at him once more. “Do I make you nervous, My Love?”

Of course he did. But not in the way he was inferring about.

“I assure you, you need not worry about what will transpire tomorrow night. Nothing will happen between us that you do not wish to.”

Frustration brewed within you at his response, but you couldn’t quite figure out why. “But we have duties.”

It was expected that you would have children, so that the Strong line would be continued.

“We are young, and there is plenty of time for that yet,” Harwin reassured you. “Whether we decide to cross that path tomorrow night, or even five years from now, is no matter of concern to me.”

“And you would be happy?” you challenged playfully, though part of you feared his answer. “You would be happy with a wife of several years with whom you would not share a bed?”

“I would be happy, truly, as long as I am with you.”

…

You were taken aback. How did this man hold so much sway over you still? You had known him well for the better part of a year, and had grown even closer than you would have thought possible over the past several months. And yet, Ser Harwin still had the ability to leave you completely shocked by his openness with you. It was refreshing to see someone, especially a man, especially a man in King’s Landing, who was entirely unafraid to be vulnerable.

Perhaps there was a strength to be found in owning one’s truths, rather than hiding or denying them. Perhaps your betrothed was one of the most intelligent of them all.

“It is getting rather late,” Harwin said purposefully, having noted your prolonged silence. “I suppose I should retire, and allow you to get some rest for tomorrow.”

“If that is your wish.”

You could tell by the look on his face that it still was not.

You rose from your seat and walked over to him slowly. Harwin remained seated, though he watched you with great interest as you approached. He allowed you to place gentle hands on the sides of his head, letting out a soft sigh as you did so. You carefully tilted it slightly towards his left.

Your eyes raked over the nasty bruises that adorned the side of his neck. It was even more shocking in appearance now than it had been a few hours prior at the feast.

You felt like a spectator, lacking control of the situation as you watched your hand lower hesitantly. Careful fingers ran over the purpled skin, and the body it belonged to shivered beneath you.

“Does it hurt?” you asked worriedly, withdrawing immediately.

Ser Harwin reached out and captured your retreating hand with his own. “No,” he assured you readily. “... Not as much as it did.”

You nodded understandingly, and when he released your hand, your fingers returned to his neck. Though this time, you were more calculated with your movements. Your eyes fell to where the bruise disappeared beneath his collar. “There are others, aren’t there?”

He eyed you guardedly, unsure about your intentions. Still, he answered, “Yes.”

You weren’t sure what came over you. You had no idea what could have possibly compelled you to ask your next question. But you did. And later, you would thank yourself ten times over for your boldness.

“Can I see?”

Harwin looked at you in slight bewilderment, as if he was not sure he had heard you correctly. “You… want to see the rest of the bruises?”

“Yes.”

Harwin said nothing, his face emotionless. But his eyes were searching, seeking to discover what your motive was with your request.

“I’m sorry,” you said abruptly, having a moment of clarity. “Please, forget I said anything. I didn't mean to overstep-”

You were silenced by Harwin silently undoing the buttons of his doublet.

Taking a step back to allow him room, you watched in an entranced daze as his fingers undid each one, working with a familiar ease. Harwin’s attention was less on his work, and more on you, as he watched for your reaction. Once the garment was undone, he slipped the overcoat off his shoulders, and placed it down on the table before him. He was left in his under tunic shirt. Your eyes couldn’t help but hungrily drift towards the neck of it, where loose strings allowed even more of his skin to be exposed. Deft hands reached for the hem of that next, and a moment later, the fabric was pulled up and over his head. He slowly placed the shirt down atop of the other, while your eyes feasted.

A broad chest, and even broader shoulders, caught your attention first. From his shoulders, your eyes moved over to his arms, where muscle after muscle twitched slightly of their own accord. There was no doubt in your mind that Harwin had earned his nickname Breakbones, and the reputation of being the strongest man in all of the Seven Kingdoms, honestly and fairly. It was only just. Your eyes brazenly continued to trail downwards, where more defined muscles guarded what otherwise would be a vulnerable spot of one’s stomach for most anyone else.

Dark purple and red splotches littering his arms, chest, and even neck could do nothing to take away from his overall appearance.

You silently thanked the Gods for having been blessed with this man.

You were gawking this time- and you wouldn’t deny it even if Harwin asked.

But he didn’t. While you had been preoccupied with the view in front of your eyes, other than that of the city, you had failed to notice Harwin shifting in his seat. At first, you feared it might have been out of pain once again. But then you realized that his eyes were restless, fluttering just about everywhere else in the room but upon you. And another moment of clarity fell upon you.

He was nervous. A man blessed by the Gods in so many ways was unnerved under your perusing eyes. You had, abashedly, sent him into a similar state before. But none of those moments compared to the state he was in now. It both honored and scared you just how much power you held over the matter, but your thoughts on that could wait for a later time.

You didn’t have the heart to leave him in such a pained state any longer. Taking a step forward towards him, you closed the distance between you again. This forced him to look upwards at you. You only hoped that what he saw in your eyes was the same love and kindness which he’d always looked at you with.

Once you stood before him, you placed your hands on his neck once more. You could feel his pulse, rapid and unyielding, beneath your fingertips. In response, Harwin’s hands rose to rest gently upon either side of your waist. Feeling courageous, and perhaps a bit delirious with the lateness of the hour, you leaned downwards.

When your lips gently fell upon the bruise upon his neck, Harwin shuddered.

You proceeded to treat each bruise in this manner, trailing light fingers and leaving soft, faint wisps of kisses in their stead. As the bruises continued down his chest and arms, you calmly maneuvered to sit on Harwin’s lap, so as to make your ministrations that much easier for you. The kisses would do nothing for healing the wounds any faster physically, but perhaps they would be of benefit in spirit.

You were entirely truthful during conversation with Princess Rhaenyra at the tourney the previous morning, regarding your nervousness about the events that were to take place after your wedding. But those butterflies were long forgotten now. And the bruises littering the skin of the man you loved filled your head with images of him throughout the tourney… How was it that you had described your feelings about him then?

Desirous.

Once you had treated every bruise with the care it deserved, you sat up straight, looking deeply into Harwin’s eyes. His hands, one on the small of your back, and the other upon your knee so as to hold you securely in place, felt white hot. You were uncertain of what to do next, but he did not leave you wondering for long. He leant forward, burying his face into the side of your neck instead.

His lips attacked your neck with fervor, and you smiled upwards towards the gods. While the attention felt absolutely lovely, a tickled laugh threatened to escape from your lips. As it were, a giggle slipped out instead. “Harwin.”

Upon hearing his name, he froze, snapped out of the moment he had gotten caught up in. He pulled away from you, looking uncertain once more. “My sincerest apologies, My Lady.”

“No apologies needed, My Lord.”

The two of you sat there for several moments, but this time, the silence was not a comfortable one. Nor was it uncomfortable. It simply felt alive. The need for more hung heavily in the air, but the question of whether the need would be appeased remained unanswered.

“Perhaps we should end the night here,” Harwin said, though he sounded down-trodden.

“Perhaps,” you agreed, your mind already daring to wonder about what would happen if anyone learned of this night, even without it proceeding any further than it already had.

“... Do you wish to continue?”

“Yes,” you answered truthfully, not skipping a beat. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

You cradled the sides of his face and allowed yourself to momentarily be lost in the feeling of your fingers running through the strands of his soft curls. “You know, we are to be wed tomorrow…”

“That is right,” he considered, picking up on your hint immediately. “We are…”

There was a beat of silence.

But then you leaned in, and Harwin met you halfway. The kiss that followed was full of longing. Passion and lust needlessly fought for dominance of a battle they both could win. Harwin shot up from his seat, pulling you up and into his arms. The legs of the chair he’d been sitting in groaned in protest at the sudden movement, and you let out a surprised yelp.

He carried you across the room with ease and without a word. Another laugh escaped you as Harwin unceremoniously dropped you onto the bed. A fraction of a moment later, he joined you on the mattress, crawling on top of you in a manner that, had it been anyone else, would have left you feeling afraid. But, as it was him, you found it to be terribly seductive.

When he came face to face with you, he paused. His weight rested on his hands, which were on each side of your head. A brief flash of the scene earlier that evening crossed your mind at the familiarity of it, but you were pulled from the disturbing thoughts by Harwin’s gentle voice.

“If, at any point, you do not wish to continue-”

You placed a soft finger on his lips, silencing him. “If that is true, I will speak it at once… but only if you agree to the same.”

Harwin looked incredibly moved. In lieu of a verbal confirmation, he took your hand and pressed several soothing kisses on the palm of it.

When Harwin pressed his lips to yours once more, the nerves you felt about the evening of the following day were proven to be unnecessary. There would be a give and take- where one felt uncertain, the other would summon the courage to take the lead. But the trust you had in one another made for the best spent evening you could ever recall thus far.

Come the morrow, you would look forward to a lifetime of evenings spent the same.

Several firm knocks echoed throughout the room.

You awoke with a start, clutching the duvet to your chest.

It was daylight. A few hours into the morning, at least, from what you could tell of the sunlight streaming into the room and the birds chirping outside. The city of King’s Landing was cloaked in darkness no more.

You pulled the duvet closer to you in an effort to gather your bearings more quickly, but something about the material on your skin felt a bit off. You looked downwards with a confused frown, seeing that you were not wearing your usual shift, but something else entirely.

A chill woke you from your slumber.

“Here.”

You opened your eyes, and were immediately met with the sight of fabric. With a small, tired grumble, you mustered the strength to sit up, at least partially.

Harwin took the opportunity to swiftly slide his under tunic shirt over you. As your arms slipped into the sleeves, the scent of the fabric filled your nostrils. Unsurprisingly, it smelled overwhelmingly like him. You wanted nothing more than to burrow yourself inside of it.

Another few knocks sounded out.

“Y/N?” someone called.

“Are you awake?” called another.

The Strong sisters. They’d come to help prepare you for the wedding ceremony, as they had previously promised they would. At first, you felt touched by their offer, and were glad to be getting along well with the girls who would soon be your Good Sisters. But now, you felt horrified. They couldn’t see you in this, clothed in their brother’s shirt!

At least Harwin had had the sense to sneak out at some point… Gods know what a scene it all would have been then.

Panicked, you threw the duvet off of you, and scurried onto the floor. You scrambled around the room, this way and that, looking for your shift frantically. When you did not immediately find it, you realized why Harwin had opted to put his own shirt over you instead.

In a far corner of the room- only the gods know how it may have feasibly gotten there- you finally found it. More knocks sounded on the door as you hurriedly swapped the shirt for the light gown.

“Just a moment!” you called back, dropping the shirt to the floor beside the bed and pushing it under the frame and out of view with your foot.

You smoothed your hair over with your fingers rapidly in an attempt to tidy any out of place hairs. But you knew, at least to a certain extent, that you did not look well-rested in the slightest.

Once you were as settled as you could be, you called out, “Come in!”

Lady Lilyan and Lady Eyla opened the door to your chambers and filed in, one after the other, promptly. They both were already dressed for the ceremony, wearing lovely gowns that had been tailored specifically for the occasion. Their hair was styled carefully as well, done up in a style similar to what they usually wore, with the exception of a few intricate braids here and there. You suspected those additions had been the results of inspiration from the Princess the three of you served.

Once the door was closed, they turned to you, and their jaws dropped.

“Lady Y/N, are you feeling well?” Eyla inquired with wide eyes. “You look like you just climbed out of bed!”

Lilyan shot her a disapproving look for her unnecessary critique. “Eyla!”

Sensing a quarrel brewing between them, you quickly insisted, “She is right- I only just rose.”

Eyla frowned. “I am sorry to hear that. Was it nerves that kept you from resting?”

You cleared your throat, having never been a particularly good liar. “Something like that.”

The three of you proceeded to work in tandem to prepare you for the ceremony. Lilyan, who had been tasked with keeping your dress for safekeeping, set the garment upon your bed, while Eyla assisted you with finding the proper various underskirts.

“You were not jesting, were you?” Lilyan asked you, eyeing the significantly disheveled sheets on your bed with disbelief. “It looks like you must have tossed and turned the whole night!”

Your eyes flicked over to the bed worriedly, but Lilyan’s reaction seemed genuine, and not suspicious in the slightest.

Another comfortable silence had fallen over the pair of you, now sated mentally, emotionally, and, most recently, physically.

Your fingers tapped idly across Harwin’s bare chest. He watched the small movements of your dancing fingers with adoration.

Once you were dressed, Eyla set about finding your brush. Lilyan worked on tightening the back laces of your dress.

A few more knocks sounded on the door.

You weren’t expecting anyone else, but still, you called out, “Come in!”

The door opened, revealing none other than Princess Rhaenyra.

“My Lady!” Eyla exclaimed, displaying shock on behalf of all three of you. She moved to curtsy, but the Princess waved her off politely as she shut the door behind herself.

“Forgive me, I didn't mean to intrude.”

“You are most welcome, as always, Your Grace,” you answered.

Princess Rhaenyra still looked a little uneasy, which was out of character for her. But she pushed through it, and crossed the room to approach you. Eyla was having a bit of difficulty locating the hairbrush, and to be honest, you couldn’t entirely recall where you’d last left it. Lilyan decided to assist her sister in finding the reclusive instrument, which left you and the Princess alone for a moment.

“I remembered how nervous you were two mornings past,” Princess Rhaenyra explained, speaking in a hushed tone so as to keep the conversation as private as possible. “And, given the events of last night, I just wanted to make sure that you were-”

She paused, and her eyes dropped to the floor. You followed suit. Your gut sank as you saw Princess Rhaenyra’s shoe had made contact with the sleeve of your betrothed’s shirt. Evidently, you hadn’t kicked it underneath the bed nearly far enough. The Princess was not daft; you knew any excuse you could craft in order to explain why Ser Harwin’s shirt was in your quarters the morning before your wedding would not be believed.

You looked back up at her with fear.

But Princess Rhaenyra was not appalled. In fact, she looked very amused.

“Are you feeling better today, Lady Y/N?” she asked pointlessly, not bothering to tame her knowing smirk.

“Dearest?”

Harwin, whose eyes had closed in content, was suddenly alert. “Hm?”

“Will you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Stay with me.”

His head tilted towards the side with confusion. “We are to be wed-”

“No,” you interrupted, wanting- no, needing- to get your point across. “I know we will be husband and wife. But even the bond of marriage does not guarantee those involved will love, or even care, for one another.”

Most others in either of your positions were not so fortunate as to have been arranged to marry someone they loved. You hoped the day where one of you no longer loved the other would never come… but if it did, there would be no separating you. And any enemies the two of you had would only revel in that fact.

“Promise me that you’ll stay with me.”

Harwin looked thoughtful. “Nothing, save your command, would ever part me from you.”

You smiled sadly. You wanted to believe him, and you did. But people changed. The thought of him finding comfort in the arms of another woman was almost too much to bear.

“You do not believe me.” It wasn’t a question.

“I believe that that is your truth at this moment.”

Harwin sighed, though it was not out of anger. “Very well… How about we make a vow? And if I break my promise, you shall have every right to dispose of me as you see fit,” he proposed. Then, as an afterthought, he joked, “I would not haunt you… even though the other spirits of Harrenhal might.”

You wanted to laugh at his joke, but you were far too interested in the point he was attempting to make. “And what is this ‘vow’ you suggest?”

“From this day-“

“It’s night, Dearest.”

“I believe that is the sun rising, My Love.”

You glanced over at the balcony. On the horizon, a faint ray of light lingered. He was right.

“From this day,” Harwin continued amusedly but with purpose, “until the end of my days, I am yours, and you are mine.”

“... Are those not the words we will exchange in a few hours time?”

“Yes, but those will be more for our families’ sake than our own.”

You teased, “I’m not sure the gods see it that way-”

“-These words, here at this moment, are for us.”

One look at his face told you all you needed to know. There were no witnesses, and yet, you had little doubt that Harwin meant the words as he said them now, to you and you alone.

“Yes,” you agreed, fighting to control your voice as emotions threatened to disrupt it. “I am yours, and you are mine. From this day-”

“-Until the end of our days.”

Harwin punctuated the end of your vows to one another with a kiss. Though you still felt the faintest trace of desire behind it, what was more striking to you was the sense of pure, uninhibited love it left you with.

“I am feeling much, much better, Your Grace.”

Lady Lilyan and Lady Eyla were none the wiser to the entire exchange.

Still smiling, the Princess cleared her throat. To the other ladies in the room, she said, “Now… How is it that you plan to style her hair?”

For how long your courtship and betrothal seemed to drag on, you wished the few hours leading up the ceremony had felt the same.

Unfortunately, in what seemed like little time at all, the carriage arrived before the Great Sept of Baelor. The Strong sisters exited first, before assisting you to do the same. Once you were out in the open air, you took a deep breath. The low chimes of the bells of the Sept filled the air.

You glanced behind you, aware of the commotion the carriage and escorting guards traveling through the narrow alleyways of King’s Landing must have caused.

Curious eyes of many of the city folk were upon you. It wasn’t every day a wedding took place in the Great Sept- much less one attended by King Viserys and the rest of the royal family.

Once you entered through the large doors, someone flocked to you immediately.

“You look beautiful, Sister.”

Derron looked dashing himself, but you could tell his overindulgence of wine the prior evening may have been dampening his mood. Still, he pushed through. He smiled at you warmly, taking you in for a moment.

“Just like mother,” he decided, lost in some distant memory. Then, suddenly upbeat, he added, “She would be so proud. Father would be too.”

The mention of your father made your heart wrench. In an effort to stave off tears, you grabbed his hand, and kissed his cheek.

The Strong sisters excused themselves, and wished you good fortune before heading further into the Sept. You watched them leave.

The rest of the guests were already waiting inside. You could see them quite well from where you stood. In one of the front rows, you could see the backs of the silvery blonde hair of the royal family, save the Queen, on one side. On the other, you could see the Lord Hand, standing right beside his other son. Lilyan and Eyla joined the two of them quickly. Besides the Strongs, you could see your aunt, cousin, and few other distant family members among the crowd…

As if he had read your mind, Derron said, “They are here with us.”

You knew exactly what he meant. “I know.”

…

The green and gold cloak over your shoulders felt incredibly heavy. Though you knew it to be no heavier than your gown, as you walked down the aisle, you gripped your brother’s arm tightly, fearful that the weight of it might bring you down to the floor.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at any of the guests as you passed. There would be time to speak with them later.

At that moment, there was only one person who mattered to you. And it was him that you looked to.

Harwin stood atop the first flight of stairs at the end of the aisle. Seeing him, standing there patiently, watching your every move so diligently made you want to do little else but to run straight to him.

Alas, you could not.

When you reached the stairs, you withdrew your arm from Derron’s, and he withdrew the cloak from around your shoulders. You gave him a small smile as he retreated, backing down from the altar to stand beside Lord Lyonel.

You grabbed the arm you knew would be waiting for you, though you did not look at it. You allowed it to guide your feet forward, up a few more stairs. Then, you stopped.

With a brief flourish of fabric, a new cloak was placed over your shoulders. The fabric was of blue, red, and green; the colors of House Strong. Fingers lingered on your shoulders for just a few moments longer than they should have- but you were certain you were the only one to have noticed. Only then did you look at Harwin once more.

The look in your betrothed’s eyes made you want to melt into the floor. And you would have right then and there, had his hand not grasped yours immediately after.

Your eyes remained locked as you raised your intertwined hands, presenting them before the High Septon and the rest of the audience.

“Who has come before the eyes of the Seven?”

“Y/N of House Tyrell.”

“Harwin of House Strong.”

“Have you come before the Seven of your own fruition, without the will or force of another upon you, with the intent of pledging yourself to the other?”

“Yes.”

“Let it be known that Y/N of House Tyrell and Harwin of House Strong are of one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder!”

Yes, you agreed happily. Cursed be they!

The mischievous look across Harwin’s face suggested that he must have had a similar thought. You bit your lip to stifle a laugh.

The High Septon either did not notice, or chose to pay it no mind. He proceeded to wrap your hands together with jeweled fabric used only for this purpose.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them together as one for eternity… Now, look upon the other, and say the words.”

When it came to the vows, Harwin needn’t have been so worried about forgetting them. He recalled them perfectly, as did you. It was an amazing feat, considering when you looked into his eyes, your mind was suddenly devoid of all other thoughts. In hindsight, and considering how little of the actual ceremony you were able to recall, it felt like a dream.

But, as you were in the moment, you were absolutely certain of the existence of three things: Harwin, you, and your shared future.

“Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger.”

“-I am hers-”

“-and he is mine-”

“-from this day-”

“-until the end of my days.”

…

Until the end of our days.

...

Whatever transpired next, whether you were to be struck by misfortune decided upon by the gods, or if you were to fall prey to wicked schemes that had not yet been devised, you and Harwin would have each other. You would face whatever came your way together, as one.

And you would both be that much stronger for it.

A/N: Thank you for reading!🖤 I only had one more part after this planned for the story originally, but now I’m thinking of at least 1-2 more chapters on top of that, just to carry out through the rest of HOTD season 1... so feel free to let me know what you think about that!

Also, I had some major problems with tagging, etc today... so I apologize about that. I’ll address it in a separate post.

631 notes · View notes

my-1heart · 1 year

Note

hello I really can't be the only one this happens to but well... I'd like headcanons or a fic whatever makes you feel more comfortable, well look it's very difficult for me to pronounce vil's last name correctly so I gave up and I decided to nickname him "Don Freezer" well my request is about that, how vil would he react when his mc can't pronounce his last name (vil doesn't realize it at first but then he finds out...ah) so mc decides to give him a nickname that It is easier to pronounce and it goes according to the wave that he transmits hehe "Don Freezer" epic nickname, also it is not fair that only vil can give us nicknames, thanks in advance <3

EEEE CONGRATS ON BEING MY OFFICIAL FIRST REQUESTER ANON!!! Much love to you <333

While I’ve never really done something like this, I’ll do my best because trying new things is what we’re here to do 🫵🫵

Also, I kinda just say his name like how it looks 💀

Schoenheit - “show en height” probably not correct but oh well 😭

Alright on to the actual post!

What did you call me?

Vil Schoenheit x GN reader

Notes: this is my first request so bear with me!! Also the nickname reader calls him will be what the anon calls him cause I’m not good with nicknames <3

You and Vil had been together for a good while now. No real issues came about, it was pleasantly nice considering who he was in Twisted Wonderland.

You knew a lot about him and vice versa for him. Well… except for the fact that you could not pronounce his last name.

To be fair, the situation never called for you to call him by his last name. That and when teachers would call for him, they simply spoke his name too fast for you to catch.

Another thing you never thought about until this point was how he’d still refer to you as “potato or spudling”. Why you were his partner! So why was he still calling you such nicknames?

Nevermind that fact. The worst part about it was that he’d only call you that when he were teasing you, further embarrassing you in whatever you had just done. He found it quite amusing… so it would only be fair if you called him something, right?

But what were you even supposed to call him?

“Don Freezer.” You accidentally spoke what came to mind.

A cough could be heard as you looked over at the actor who had been working on his homework.

“P-pardon?” He sputtered.

“Uh… nothing?” You replied, trying to inch away from what you had just muttered.

“That was… random. Potato, are you feeling alright?” He asked.

You shot him a glare at the very obvious use of that nickname.

“Yes, Don Freezer. I’m feeling just peachy.” You huffed.

Silence filled the room for a bit. Looking over at Vil, you could see a very puzzled face on him.

“What did you call me?” He asked, curiously.

“…Don freezer…” you relied.

To say he was confused was putting it lightly. He looked flabbergasted.

“What does that even mean?!” He asked again, very clearly lost at the sudden name usage.

“I dunno.” You shrugged, smiling at him.

He was at a literal lost of words as he just sat there, staring at you a little bit before he went back to his homework. But he wasn’t really working on it, more so just trying to figure out what just happened.

Perhaps this was the perfect nickname for him.

February 10, 2023 7:56 PM

2 posts in one day??? I was just super excited to get a request so you guys get another post!!

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andreafmn · 9 months

Text

Bound | Chapter 2

Word Count: 3K

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could've hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: this is basically just a "and they were roommates" and a "history will call them best friends" situation. For all effects of the time period, they do refer to each other as friends though. 😉😉 Also, sorry I wasn't able to update my other stories. Have not been feeling very well these past few days and writing only exacerbates my migraines.

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What happened to her during the late hours of the night one late April in 1933, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) could not tell. She had been lying in bed when all of a sudden, all she could feel was pain and fear. Her body trembled and whined, begging for something –anything– that would ease that pain.

Her body raised from her bed, clutching at the walls of her room in the darkness. With the flick of a shaking hand, the candles on her vanity turned on, their flames illuminating the area slightly. (Y/N) sat in front of her mirror, checking her body for any sign of a bite or scratch, for any external reason as to why her body was in excruciating pain.

But there was nothing. Nothing to explain why she felt an unbearable burning running through her veins. It was the sort of sensation that could only come from a freezing state. The scolding blaze that only the lowest temperatures could bring. She could feel it flowing across her body, no site of emergence she could determine.

There was a feeling of fear inside her that she couldn’t explain as well. It called for death, tempting closer, its breath cold against her neck. She had never been afraid of dying. It had always been a fair spirit to her. Even if it had taken her mother at a young age, (Y/N) knew that it had been for a reason. But that night, she did not understand Her intentions or why she was seeking for her soul.

She tried to keep quiet. To hold in the scream that was boiling inside her throat. She wanted to release every ounce of pain throat her throat until it hurt from the wailing. Hard as she tried, sobs and whimpers escaped her, and the groans simply slipped out.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” Her best friend, Bea, walked into the bedroom, rubbing sleep off her eyes. “I can hear you struggling from the living room.”

“I don’t…,” the girl tried to speak. “I don’t know –ugh– what’s happening.”

The groaning put Bea on high alert, scuffling toward her friend in an instant. “What is it, (Y/N)?” she questioned, her hands cradling (Y/N)’s face. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” she croaked breathlessly. “It hurts everywhere.”

“Here, let’s get you to bed,” Bea cooed, wrapping her arm around her friend’s waist. She helped her to the bed, partially covering her shaking body with a blanket. (Y/N) was trembling like she was freezing, but her body was sweating as if a fever was ransacking her body. “I’m gonna scan your body, okay? Maybe that’ll tell us more about what’s happening with you.”

Bea left the room, and (Y/N) could hear her tinkering around the kitchen, gathering ingredients and items she could need. The girl stumbled in minutes later, her arms full of herbs, a mortar and pestle, a pitcher of water, a wooden bowl, and various vials that (Y/N) could not discern.

The raven-haired girl sat by the bed, placing all the ingredients and instruments on the floor. The smells from whatever paste Bea was making eased her body slightly. Scents of sage, rosemary, ginger, and moringa danced in her nose, letting her focus on something other than her hurt. The paste felt cold against her skin as Bea spread it on her arms, her chest, then her forehead, cooling everything that it touched. But it did nothing for the ache deep in her bones.

(Y/N) could hear her friend as she poured the water into the bowl, speaking an incantation she knew far too well but could not remember at that moment. Her hand governed above the liquid, turning counterclockwise with the fire-red light that left her body. Had she not been writhing in agony, she would have been so proud of how far Bea had come with her magic.

“I need your hand, (Y/N),” she said softly. Her hands took her friend’s, holding onto the index finger of her left hand. “This might pinch a little.”

In the midst of her pain, (Y/N) did not feel as Bea dug the point of a knife into her finger, letting the blood drip down the digit. What she did note was that instead of the water turning into black goo or simply a light pink, it made the liquid disappear in a small explosion.

“Well, that has never happened before,” Bea mumbled in astonishment. “I think we might have to call the High Priestess, (Y/N). I can’t explain what just happened to you.”

“NO!” (Y/N) exclaimed before she fell back with a groan. “Just stay with me. It’ll pass. Just stay with me.”

“Alright. As you wish.”

Bea sighed before ultimately crawling behind (Y/N) on the bed. She cradled her friend’s body, reciting a pain-relieving spell over the paste that covered her extremities. They stayed in that position as the night passed. As (Y/N) remained in discomfort, Bea continued comforting her as best as she could. She’d smooth down her hair, she would distract her with stories their parents used to tell them when they were younger, and she’d sing lullabies she remembered from their childhood. Everything and anything she could think of to make this unexplainable experience better for her best friend.

Hours went by, and the two friends remained in each other’s arms, and at some point, they drifted off to sleep. The rays of the sun snuck in through the windows, basking their bodies in warmth. Somehow, the night had shifted into day, and the body-shaking pain had subsided as though it had never happened.

When Bea finally awoke, she found that (Y/N) was gone from the bed. And though she worried for a second, she somehow knew that her friend had simply gone to the only place they would when the need to decompress was too high. She cleaned up the mess from the night before and headed to the river just outside the village their coven resided in.

She walked down the trail the two had traveled together many times over the years. The babbling brook had become a place of solace for both of them. When life seemed to weigh down their shoulders, they could go to the river and allow the cold water to make them feel new. It had been the only place where they could feel free. Where the eyes of some people in the coven or of the people from the town could not judge them. Whatever they were.

Bea found (Y/N)’s figure quickly. The girl was sitting by the river banks, the bottom of her white dress soaked already as her feet dipped into the water. In silence, she joined her friend’s side, a wave of relief washing over the burning in her veins. (Y/N) was alright –at least she seemed– and that was all she could ask for.

“You left so early this morning,” Bea finally sighed, breaking the silence. She took a strand of (Y/N)’s hair and ran it through her fingers, something she only did when her anxieties were getting the best of her. “I was afraid something else had happened.”

“I’m sorry to have worried you,” (Y/N) smiled. She kissed the skin of Bea’s shoulder and leaned into her friend’s touch. “But I needed some time by myself. Last night… last night was indescribable.”

“And how are you feeling now? Your complexion looks much better, I must say.”

“I feel amazing,” (Y/N) sighed contentedly. “I don’t know how to explain it. But I feel powerful. Like my magic has grown within me –if that’s even possible. I have no idea what I went through last night, but right now, I feel almost invincible.”

“Was it a magical resurgence, then?” Bea offered. “I’ve heard of them, but I never thought they would be so… violent.”

“It could have been,” she responded. “I can’t be sure. My magic does feel stronger than it has ever been. The earth around me feels like it is buzzing with excitement. As though it knows something that I don’t. Still, it has never been described this way in our books. And I’ve never heard of it happening after your twenty years of age.”

Bea sighed, her head falling slightly at the weight of the next words she spoke. (Y/N) was acting too nonchalant as to what had happened, and she was still shaking with fright from the night before. “I thought you were dying, (Y/N),” she cried. “It seemed like at any moment you would slip away from me.”

The girl turned her head to her friend, her heart breaking as she saw the tears falling down her eyes. Her hands flew to her face, her mouth kissing away the tears before they stained her skin. “I’m sorry, Bea,” (Y/N) whispered as she hugged her friend’s head close to her chest. “I would never want to scare you like that. Not willingly.”

“I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t know how I could ever go on without you by my side. I can’t lose someone else from my family.”

“Oh, my darling, Bea,” she said, her voice muddled by the black hair of her friend. “I’m right here, darling. I haven’t left. I’m right here.”

(Y/N) kept Bea close to her chest until the girl’s shaking sobs weakened. She ran her hand through the black locks of hair, calming her unsteady heart with a gentle touch. Thankful there was no one around, she kept her close to her chest, kissing the top of her head every few seconds.

“I can imagine it was scary for you as well,” Bea continued once she had calmed, her gaze suddenly more interested in her hands. “And what happened with your blood, I… at least we can rule out dark magic. But you were in so much pain, I could not bear it. Even if it did strengthen your magic now, I thought it was going to take you from me.”

(Y/N) cradled Bea’s cheek, forcing her eyes to bore into hers. “It’ll take the Great Mother herself to strike me down to take me from you,” she answered sternly. “You are my family, Bea. And I’m not planning on leaving your side.”

“Don’t speak that way of the Great Goddess,” the girl chuckled, her pale cheeks burning red. “You know the universe has a tendency to throw curveballs when you least expect it.”

“Since when do you speak in sports metaphors, Bea?” (Y/N) laughed. “The next time you come in from town, you’ll be dressing like Jean Harlow.”

“Don’t pretend like you would hate that,” she laughed. And it was such a beautiful sound that it made the woman smile brightly, the corner of her mouth stretching as far as they could. “But could you imagine what people would say if I came to the village wearing a red-silk slip dress? I’m sure I’d be run out of the coven with fire. I can already hear old Reginald telling me that a lady should always dress respectably.”

“Darling, you could be wearing a tarp over your body, and my eyes would still be on you,” she smiled. “There’s nothing that could keep me from gravitating toward you.”

Her hand rested against the skin of her cheek, tracing the curvature of her features, kissing the corner of her mouth. It was the same face she had looked at for years, and yet she never grew tired of looking at it. The way the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way her dazzling icy-blue eyes beamed brighter when she spoke about her dreams to become the coven’s High Priestess, the way her pink lips slightly parted when she focused on listening to someone; all the things that made her the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. The very face she could have died staring at if that was her destiny.

(Y/N) wanted to confess the love that warmed her heart whenever she was with her. But those were words that would condemn them. They would force a spotlight on them that they could not bear. Not where they lived, not in the times they lived. They were forced into silence into stolen glances and a title that was far too small for the significance of her in (Y/N)’s life.

“It’s not fair, you know,” Bea sighed after a beat of silence. “We shouldn’t have to hide this way.”

“Have you been practicing your mind-reading spells?”

“No,” she smiled. “But it’s written on your face. It’s written on us every day that passes. It’s not fair.”

“I cannot speak to fairness, Bea. But it’s the world we live in. And maybe one day it won’t be, but for now, this is the way things are,” (Y/N) said, the thread of defeat sewn into her words. “I wish I could hold your hand when we are in town, I wish I had been able to steal a kiss from you in the halls of the school. I wish I could declare to the entire world that you are by my side. That you have been and always will be more than my best friend.”

“And I wish I could give all of that to you, (Y/N). I want that for you, and I want that for me,” she said, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotions. “I want the world to be okay with the way I feel for you. I want them to welcome us with open arms and understand that love can look a thousand different ways.”

“I know, Bea. But there are two secrets about us that the world can never know. Not for the time being, at least. Maybe in the next life, we’ll find each other again, and things will be different.”

“I hope so, too,” she smiled with a sigh. The river rushed rippled before them, running to meet the sea, to become part of something bigger. “You know, they call this the Bound Souls’ Bank. Have I told you the story before?”

“Only a thousand times,” Bea chuckled as she stared into (Y/N)’s eyes. “But I’ll never grow tired of hearing it.”

“Well, it’s said that a young couple met in this very river many, many, many years ago –long before even our parents were in plans to be born– a young couple met in this very river. Maybe it was by chance, pure coincidence. But many say it was fate. That it had to have been fate,” (Y/N) related. “Their paths had never meant to cross. Not in this lifetime, at least. They deemed it almost impossible for these two hearts to ever know of the other. Alas, life brought them together.

“The man had been chased to the river; not many know why. Still, he’d gotten there at the exact moment the woman had come to wash her linens. She did not know him, but she had decided to protect him that day,” she smiled at the words she said. As a beam of sunlight peeked through the trees, (Y/N) raised her head and basked in the warmth of the ray. “And the rest? Well, the rest was history.”

“They fell in love,” Bea added. “A love so intense that it defied time and space. A union people pray for but rarely get.”

“That’s right. The very founders of the village that is our home, even to this very day,” she continued. “They welcomed into the circle witches and wizards from all over the country, offering them a safe dwelling to live their lives in peace. Even opening the door to other supernatural creatures that rarely had a place in the world. And they called it New Forest Village. After the woman’s death, they named this very river in their honor as a way to say thank you. As her body burned down the stream, her soul returning to our Great Mother, they baptized the body of water. That way, no one would forget the two people who fell in love here and gifted so many with a home.”

“I wish you were my bound soul,” the onyx-haired girl admitted. “How grand would it have been if we had been that incredible love to each other?”

“It might not have been you, but you are still my soulmate, Bea. And no one can take that from us,” she offered. “And our love is not measured by whatever destiny the universe has in store for us. It is measured by what is in our hearts.”

“I guess the universe did grant us a favor, then.”

“What ever do you mean?”

“If you had been my bound soul, there would have been absolutely no one that could keep me from declaring how much I love you.”

(Y/N) pressed a chaste kiss to Bea’s lips, reveling in their softness and their warmth. Her hands snaked around her waist, needing the closeness of her body to let her know that Bea was there, right there with her. That she wasn’t a dream. She had kept quiet, but she had feared that when she had woken that morning, she had not been able to survive the night and was walking in the silence of the afterlife. The second she had seen Bea, she had wanted to believe she was wrong. But it wasn’t until she touched her that she knew she was still alive. So. Very. Alive.

“Then you will have to settle for telling it to me,” she grinned. “Whenever you feel the need to scream it out, I want you to tell it to me in any way that you desire. Through the water, through the air, the earth, or fire, darling. And I promise I will say it back.”

“You are my sun,” Bea smiled.

“My moon,” (Y/N) responded with a matching gleam.

“And all of my stars,” they said in unison.

At that moment, they swore that would be their forever. Even if they had to pretend to be friends and only friends until they were old and grey. Buried in each other’s arms was the way they were meant to live for the rest of their lives. How were they supposed to know their definitions of eternity were going to be so different?

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twilightsleepjunkie · 2 months

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Hard Pill to Swallow pt: 2

They lay there, clinging to each other against the pillows. The darkened room was silent aside from the rain bouncing off the windows from the storm outside.

“I’m sorry–” She was always sorry for getting upset and needing to be comforted. He had given up on telling her that he took his promises seriously. “You really didn’t need to come home–Carlisle- I was being dramatic.” She pulled away from him, “you don’t have to be here. You should be back at work.”

“You’re allowed to be upset over this.” He ran his hand up and down her arm, offering what comfort he could.

“I should apologize to Emmett–”

“Stop.” His hand on her arm slowed her down. “Emmett’s fine and I want to be with you today.” He patted the mattress beside him. “Stay with me.”

Would it help if you talked about him?” He’d heard bits and pieces about her son throughout the years, but she held onto the finer details for herself. Carlisle knew his name and how he died and for many that was plenty of information.

As Esme’s husband and a doctor, he wanted to know everything she had been through that led up to her climbing the cliff that brought her to him.

“There’s not a lot more to tell,” she leaned against his shoulders. Her tone meant, ‘that’s all I’m willing to say on the subject.’

“Fair enough.” He twirled a strand of her hair around his index finger.

“Carlisle?”

“Yes, m’dear?”

“If you could choose, what’s your ‘dad’ name?” She laughed just a little at the thought of her gentle husband wanting to be called something modern and tough-sounding, like ‘Pops.’ Charlie Swan could pass for ‘Pops’ but Carlisle…not so much.

“Hmm…” he had to think about it, Carlisle stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I think it’s sweet when Edward refers to us as his mother and father.”

“For all intents and purposes.” Esme added, definitely mocking Edward and his attempt to be cool for Bella the first time he introduced his family to his girlfriend.

Carlisle chuckled, “the boy lost me on that one, I’ve known, loved and provided for him for over 100 years.”

“How dare he,” Esme agreed with a giggle. Sarcasm rolled off her tongue. “The ingratitude.”

“Thank you.”

“He was just trying to impress Bella,” Esme pointed out.

“By not having parents?” Carlisle’s brow knitted in confusion. “What’s impressive about that? It’s just sad.”

“I never said your son made any sense, only that I knew and understood what he was doing.”

“My son?” Carlisle echoed, aghast with his palm on his chest. He rolled onto his side so they were nose to nose. “He did not learn that from me, I assure you.”

“Please, Carlisle,” Esme rolled her eyes. “All that puritanical guilt he covers himself in, that’s all you. He learned to hate this life because he had a front row seat to every one of your self-deprecating thoughts. He knows you resent it.”

“I don’t hate it,” without vampirism they wouldn’t have their family and who knows what would have happened to their family of misfits. “If anything, I try to create a balance to make up for it.”

“I know that.” They were quiet for a few minutes, content to exist together in a comfortable space. “Everyone knows that you’ve done the best you could with what you had to work with.” She squeezed him, “It’s worked out well for us.”

–

“Esme…” Now it was Carlisle with a question he didn’t want to know the answer to.

“Hmm?”

“In another life…if I had been your husband, first,” he paused in this sudden moment of vulnerability. Carlisle grabbed a goose feather pillow from behind and held it in against his torso. He felt naked. “Esme, do you think you would have wanted a more…” he cleared his throat. “Traditional family with me?” In the back of his mind, Carlisle, sometimes, when he was alone; he wondered if Esme had married him out of proximity. He’d bitten her, the thought of creating his own mate, for the purpose of mating, sickened him. He questioned himself, if he’d simply taken advantage of her circumstances.

Of course, the only other option had been to let this young woman die. She would have passed through the veil, in pain with the idea that no one would miss her. Why else would someone so young throw themselves from a cliff? Carlisle couldn’t let that happen. He’d bitten her, as a stranger. It was only after her transformation, when the blood and bruises healed, that he recognized Esme Platt.

He knew he married her because he loved her and he liked himself better when he was with her. Would she have chosen him, if their circumstances were different?

“Carlisle,” she propped herself up on her elbow to look him in the eyes. Concern trickled into her tone. “Where’s this coming from? Why the sudden nesting? Did you come across another teenager? We talked about that– it’s the 21st century. We both have cell phones, you have to call and tell me these things.”

“No,” he laughed but tried to cover it with his hand.“Nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Forgive me for wandering too far down memory lane. It’s all so violently unfair. And the whole time you were living through the worst parts of your life…I was off somewhere else. If I’d stayed longer in Ohio things might be different.” Knowing he could have prevented her suffering before it started, ate at him every day for decades. Perhaps they could have been happy the way Edward and Bella were, with children of their own, if he’d just stayed still. “Would you have still picked me?”

“Well, that’s a silly question,” she reached up and squeezed his hand. Loosening his fingers from the pillowcase. He caught her fingers and held them. “I would have 10 babies with you right now if we could.” She continued. “Now could you please put the emotional support pillow on your lap?” There was no reason to sit in the fantasy of a traditional family, the thought hurt and Esme didn’t want to hurt anymore.

“Emotional support pillow,” he echoed and laughed. “Here.”

“You don’t need that thing.” Esme put her head on the pillow. “I’m your emotional support and I won’t be replaced with a pillow,” She grumbled playfully.

“I assure you, your position as my main source of support is completely safe.

“I hope so,” she frowned, sitting up to adjust the pillow, “This isn’t even a good pillow.”

“Are you alright?” Carlisle knew when she was putting on a brave face, usually for his benefit.

She sighed, shoulders sagging. “I want to sleep.” In truth, she longed for the escape from her own thoughts that only happened with sleep. “I want to sleep,” she repeated, throwing her arm across his waist. “And I don’t want to wake up.” If only the myths were true, Esme would give her right arm for a decades-long nap. “Did you ever try sleeping in a coffin?”

Carlisle shrugged, “I haven’t really been tired so I didn’t see the point.”

“We need to lean into the myths more, just to see what happens.” Ever since Renesmee’s birth, it seemed like anything was possible. Since her transformation, Esme never questioned Carlisle when he explained that she wouldn’t sleep again. She’d never tasted food with her new body because he told her she didn’t need it. Esme considered Carlisle to be the expert in vampirism and she never considered anything else; but, Renesmee wasn’t supposed to exist at all. The child defied all of Carlisle’s ideals about this existence.

He shot her an incredulous look, “Esme, are you telling me to buy you a coffin?”

“Of course not.” The idea of laying in a box, being trapped in there… “Absolutely not. But, I do need to go to the hardware store.”

“Want some company?” Carlisle already had the keys to her truck in hand. “We haven’t been to the hardware store in awhile.”

Rosalie’s shrill voice from the living room cut off Esme’s response. “Emmett!” The front door slammed, rattling the windows. Esme paused with her hand on the doorknob to listen to Rose.

“Go help me beat the crap out of my idiot brother. Make him a better father.”

“Uh oh.” Carlisle swung his legs off the bed. “Esme,” he glanced at her, unsure if he should ask. “Please?”

She nodded, albeit, reluctantly. Of course she would remove the child from the room while Carlisle and Emmett handled Rosalie and her sudden hostility towards Edward. “I’ll take the baby.”

—-

“What happened?” Carlisle asked, following Esme down the stairs, to the living room. Rosalie stood in front of the wall of windows, with Renesmee clinging to her.

“Nothing.” Rose hissed, adjusting Renesmee on her hip. “That’s the point.”

“And we’re not blaming Bella at all?” Esme reached for her 3 month old granddaughter, who was the size of a 2 year old, but Rosalie tried her best to keep Renesmee a child for as long as possible.

Renesmee looked up at Rosalie for permission.

“Go ahead,” Rose nodded and went back to the conversation. “Oh I’m blaming her too, but Edward knows better.” Rosalie continued her tirade, “We knew Bella had no sense when she stayed with him.”

“Carlisle,” Esme touched his arm, drawing him away from Rosalie. “Look at her.”

Renesmee’s big brown eyes were glassy and her cheeks were too pink.

“That’s what I mean,” Rosalie tried to pull back her temper in front of Renesmee. “They’ve locked themselves in the bedroom and left her alone. Ness, show Esme and Carlisle what you showed me.”

Renesmee pressed her hand against Esme’s cheek and Esme winced at the temperature. “She’s too warm.”

Renessmee’s thoughts swirled, flashing colors like a television trying to pick up a signal. A vision of a kitchen sink full of dishes, a locked bedroom door and the interior of her dollhouse.

It was enough to get the message across, Edward and Bella had left her alone in the house, while they were busy with each other.

“She’s usually so clear.” Esme pressed her hand against Renessme’s forehead. “Poor thing.”

“I’ll get the Tylenol,” Carlisle turned and kissed Esme on the forehead and let his hand linger against her cheek before heading for the bedroom, where he kept his medical bag. The hand on her cheek was an apology.

“My turn.” Renesmee’s clear, high voice pulled Esme from her thoughts.

“Carlisle.” Renesmee repeated, reaching for him. “My turn.”

“Oh,” he turned around.“You want to come with me?” Carlisle held out his hands and Renesmee went to him. Esme was more than happy to hand her over, of course she loved the child. Edward’s child. Mentally, she had to remind herself that the strange little girl belonged to Edward. She was his literal flesh and blood, that alone should have been enough of a reason for Esme to truly adore her. Except, Renesmee wasn’t a child.

Esme didn’t know what to call her, but Renesmee would never be a baby no matter what Rose did to try and extend Renesmee’s childhood. The fact was, nothing about her was normal, even by vampire standards. But she was innocent and that was enough for Esme to fight to protect her.

She watched when Renesmee laid her hand against Carlisle’s cheek, with her face in his neck.

Carlisle stalled in place, then after a moment, he grinned, amused and pecked her cheek. “I didn’t forget about you.” Her arms wrapped tighter around his neck.

#carlesme #esme cullen #carlisle cullen #carlisle x esme fanfic #twilight fanfiction #Should I put this on A03 #do you want more?#IDK what the fandom wants #self conscious

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song-of-oots · 10 months

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A bunch of reasons why I have a soft spot for Sabine:

1) I like her understated comradery with Vaarsuvius.

2) Her interaction with Miko was comedy gold.

3) I hugely enjoy the way she keeps getting used to subvert traditional narratives around women's attitudes to romance/sex (the revelation in strip 394 that she's mad that Nale was trying to kill Haley, rather than sleep with her; strip 794 "women like me swoon for a hero, but that's only because deep down, we think we can change them.")

4) She may be a self-confessed "incarnation of illicit sex", but the story isn't usually interested in condemning her for her sexual proclivities (except for those occasions where she uses vengeful murder as an aphrodisiac, which: fair). The moral condemnation implied by the narrative is generally in reference to all of the aforementioned murder and also literally working for the forces of evil.

5) I also really like Sabine and Nale's relationship. This isn't because I'm particularly fond of Nale (I'm really not) but I do think it gives them both a bit of depth. I also like the fact that a non-monogamous relationship is treated as pretty non-sensational and valid (even if it did initially come as quite a shock to Nale; casually announcing you've had sex 4 times while off on a business trip and you don't care who he sleeps with is probably not the best way of handling such things in real life). Anyway, if anything they are closer than ever in Blood Runs in the Family (despite a little insecurity on Nale's part regarding Sabine's attraction to Elan and all those edgy "good boys"). The occasionally-sleeping-with-other-people thing doesn't actually disrupt their emotional bond at all. And basically, as a polyamorous person, it is pretty refreshing to see non-monogamy depicted in a way that doesn’t try to imply it is inherently inferior, and in the context of a relationship that is actually quite healthy (even if the rest of their behavior isn't).

6) She helped V to thwart Tarquin, which is kind of covered in point 1, but I think it deserves a separate bullet point and quite probably it's own separate post one day simply because I love the significance of this narratively. (In fact I hope she has a hand in Tarquin's eventual downfall, though that doesn't seem overly likely.)

7) She’s hot. (My husband suggested I add this one, and on consideration I realised it probably is a contributory factor so I agreed).

#sabine #nale #oots #order of the stick #non-monogamy

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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 10 months

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"fondness" LOL

When -- directly after Scary as a sleepy kitten. We're back to season 2, slowpokes. We had taken a brief trip to pre-season 9 for Still beating

Is there a picture of baby Carl at the end as a prize? -- yes, just as Dale describes it to you!

What -- Andrea and Dale thought you and Daryl were a thing? Lol. But like why are you so defensive about it? While also being defensive about the mangy hick, oh, this is confusing...

Perspective -- 2nd person (you)

Pronouns - nada

Who -- You, Andrea, Papa Dale, and Glenn. Daryl's sleeping, he's concussed and fell down a ridge twice with a bolt hole in him, he needs his rest.

How long is this one? -- shorter, about 10 minutes!

TWs -- a few cusses, and reference to Carol's spousal abuse

Reading assignments -- How's your head? Part 2, then souls stripped bare if you want more emotional context, as well as Invisible tugging strings Part 1 but especially -> Part 2 , then Spell your last name, please. , He hasn't been himself, and Scary as a sleepy kitten.

All that for reading assignments?? -- reading is healthy, y'all :P

Choose your fighter: The Full + Official Masterlist vs Chronological Slowpoke Chapters Only (reading them in publishing order as opposed to chronological order is recommended)

have fun and happy reading!

“Ah, the culprit behind Andrea’s little conclusion. How are you?”

Dale finishes matching a pair of socks as he responds with a quiet chuckle, “Just fine, I hope. I see now that the conclusion caused some…offense?”

“Don’t be silly, Mr. H, you meant nothin’ by it,” you play off, and start to help his sort through the pile of clean, dry socks.

“‘Meant nothing by it’ implying there was some offense taken.”

You tuck in your lip, and meant to return eye contact, but you’re still feeling strange about the whole mix-up. With the simple words, “nazi-bike,” you tell him what you consider a fair reason to have taken some offense.

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

20 minutes ago

“Y/N, I didn’t realize,” Andrea says, slowly walking beside you.

“Realize what?”

“You two.”

“Me, too? What’d I do?” Is she talking about how you’ve got the medical wrap on your upper arm, maybe? “Do you mean this?” you question, looking down at your shoulder.

She peers at you, head tilted to the side.

“You and Daryl,” she softly clarifies. “It was Dale who wondered first, after you had to excuse yourself.”

Me and Daryl? “What’d we do?” Perhaps she's referring to the search today? Andrea isn’t one to not speak her mind, you wonder why she’s not being more succinct. She doesn't know about you having shot that guy. Dale has an idea, but he's tight-lipped about it.

“So, you and he…?” she trails off.

So, you start to fill her in about the search. “Before Daryl found the doll, we’d—”

—OH WAIT, now you get it!

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

Once you figured it out, your hands were raised in innocence and you kept your voice lowwww. “Ain’t nothing romantic happened between us two.”

And you weren’t fully sure why you were going into defensive mode so hard, either, but there you went. “C’mon, Andy, there’s a fuckin’ nazi symbol on his drug dealing, motorcycle gang bike,” you’d grit, doing your best to play if cool regardless of how weirdly defensive you’d gotten.

Forcing a smile to cover up for that fact that you licked your teeth in annoyance, you finished up, “He’s my friend, but that right there would be a deal breaker off the bat for aught else. And besides, back at the quarry, we noticed he didn’t seem into people.”

“I’m not entirely sold on that. Maybe, it’s simply that he’s shy and careful and not a pig like his brother was.”

Andrea then had peered at you as if she could see something you couldn’t, which disturbed and annoyed and for some reason thrilled you even more.

You thought about it, and supposed that he did seem to blush that time Amy was headlighting after the first rainstorm at the camp. A squall had come out of nowhere. Last time she ever wore that shirt without a tank top underneath.

Anyway, Daryl had immediately turned his head away, in fact, as opposed to (Merle, obviously, but also) even Glenn, who’d frozen when he’d seen. Amy didn’t know who’d been gaping, but you’d been on the hunt for anyone objectifying your new friend, so had been darting your eyes around like a cat getting ready to pounce, and took inventory of every glance.

That Daryl turned his head so readily was the main reason you’d felt safe enough to ask if him if he’d teach you how to hunt, in all honesty…

“It was his brother’s bike, not his,” Andrea next stated, very like the way older siblings will talk down to younger ones. “Merle was the head, and the dealer. Would you want to be held accountable for what your brother does, his choices?”

That simple reminder made your bow your head, and you could hear your pulse begin to thrum in your ears. You wouldn’t want to be held to Shane’s choices and actions. You still couldn’t (can’t) wrap your head around the fact that he’d just flirted with Lori. And kept flirting after she’d clearly been alarmed by it.

“Something Merle once said made it sound like Daryl wasn’t a big part of the gang,” Andy went on.

However, you got even more defensive at what you were taking as insistence of Dale and Andrea’s little conclusion. “And? He still rode or, or at least hung with them. He still wears the cut sometimes.” 'Sometimes' meaning that spate of a few days when he was particularly sad about Merle...

“‘Cut?’” she repeated, then remembered, “Oh, I remember learning that from Sons of Anarchy, it’s the um, that’s the Boy Scout vest that bikers wear, right?”

Ha. You were cracking up despite yourself, that was funny. Boy Scout vest.

“As for the bike,” Andrea added mildly, “painting over that symbol isn’t on his radar. I mean, routine hygiene isn’t on his radar.”

Nope, you weren’t defensive at all. “…So he’s grimy and desensitized to a nazi symbol. It’s a match.”

With a tut very-like what your eldest sister would make, she stated, “I didn’t remember what the symbol on the bike stood for at first, and I'm a civil rights lawyer. I thought they were stylized lightning bolts.” You heard her breathe deeply as she rested her arms on the livestock fence. “The symbol, the one on Merle’s bike, what’s it mean again?”

“Shoots-stah-full.” You’re bad at pronouncing it and were feeling embarrassed, so spoke it shyly. “SS is easier to say.”

“They were the secret police?” she checked.

“The secret police was the gestapo, the SS were another sort of special branch. Über-jarheads, I guess.”

“See? I only really remembered the swastika as being a nazi symbol, until you and Dale were talking about the symbol on the bike. It’s not unreasonable to think some things in Daryl’s education were forgotten or missed, too.”

That was the point in the conversation when the private knowledge of him having gotten lost for 9 days, as a young child, and without anyone looking for him, slapped you in the metaphorical face.

Why did you react so strongly to her assumption in the first place? It’s not a big deal. You’d have probably assumed the same. Like, for goodness sake, you were the one who couldn’t keep the pet names for him from going on parade little over an hour ago. You'd cupped his cheek and kissed his forehead in relief that he was alive!

Either way, there was a (…sane?) inner battle in your head between being offended at Andrea and Dale’s conclusion versus being offended at your own negative reaction to it.

Bitch, he tossed the ‘hard stuff’ this morning, obviously he isn’t a user.

Still ran with the dealers, still was complacent and complicit with it all. And think about how cruelly he insulted you earlier today, how scary he was? You were expecting it to turn into his backhand. It’s something that was plainly done to him, you think he’s unlearned that yet? No, because you remembered how he grabbed you by your arm and dragged you back at the house until you cussed him out.

But then he apologized. Then, when you needed help, he carried you gently and made sure it wasn’t hurting you. You saw how careful he was being, and he isn’t good with touch.

Then he stole Mr. Greene’s horse instead of just asking like a normal person.

He also gave Carol that flower and told her the story to go with it, and meant it.

Before drinking about four beers last night and was hardly buzzed from it.

He carried, buried, and mourned that family of strangers with you today, he’s not some selfish deadbeat, Y/N!

Well, he chain smokes and drives a nazi bike!

And still almost died today three times to give the group—to give Carol—concrete proof that her baby girl’s been near.

Fine! Explain away the r-a-c-i-s-m.

That mangy hick saved Glenn’s life, he saved T-Dog’s life twice. He gave Jacqui extra root beer when she said she loved it, helped the Morales kids learn to throw a punch (and a kick). Y/N, he’s clearly doing some kind of weeding of the bad stuff in him and letting good things take their place, idiot, are you stu—

“Y/N. It wasn’t an attack on you, or a judgment. Amy told me how,” Andy paused to think of a good verb, “discerning you are when it comes to things like that. How strong your boundaries are. And how hesitant you’ve been to enter into a relationship for those reasons.”

She was diplomatic and tactful, you were grateful. You’d have just said ‘old-fashioned, kinda scared, comparatively prudish.’ Lol.

Crossing her arms as she walked, she then drove home, “Maybe I would have trusted your decision, if there was a ‘you two.’”

A slightly stammered “Okay,” was the best you could do right in terms of responding. Let’s be real, sentences aren’t your strong suit on a good day, never mind today.

Andrea stuck her hands into her belt loops and she ambled alongside the fence. You followed, looking out at the cows. One of them had twin calves.

“You gave him the benefit of the doubt before any of us,” she reminded you. “Are you backtracking?”

Your voice cracked when you tried to insist, “I ain’t backtracking on that, it’s j-just been a long day.”

“It’s been something else,” Andrea softly agreed. Her pace slowed a little and she placed her hand on your back as she continued toward the nearest cow field. “I saw Carol washing your stuff. Where’d the bloodstains come from?”

You shrugged. “My stitches ripped.” Ohh damn it, you said it out loud. “Wait, Andy, don’t—please don’t let Shane find out,” came out of your mouth in such a desperate tone of voice that you couldn’t not see a red flag.

“Oh, I won’t.” Andrea’s lips pursed, and she put a hand on her hip. “He’s been acting up.”

One word for it. You closed your eyes, and mumbled, “Thank you. He has been.”

“It doesn’t seem like you to hide stuff from him.”

Hide stuff? “No, it’s the…” After inwardly tugging the halyard to get that red flag down, you give up. Let it fly; you were hiding stuff from your brother, plain fact. Still are. For now, at least.

Andrea said nothing more about it. Again, you were grateful. You also felt stupid.

You stood there in silence for a few minutes, listening to the breeze, the mooing, the birds chirping, the cicadas buzzing.

Once the sun was halfway set, she lead the way back.

“At any rate, back to what we were discussing,” she relaxed her position and gave you something of a teasing smirk. “T-Dog is convinced Daryl’s a good guy, too, so what does that tell you?”

“That Teddy’s a saint,” you answered quietly, mouth twisting into an embarrassed grin. You may or may not sometimes remind her of what a catch you think T-Dog is combined with the fact that he’s single and in her age range. “Andy, where was all this goin’?”

“I have no idea, at first I thought I was being supportive,” she chuckled. “I guess: Daryl is proving to be a different man than we thought. And I’d say you know that better than anyone here.” She inhaled, then made a slight groan. “And, well, I did just shoot him, so maybe I’m biased.”

You held back a giggle. “So you’re tryin’ to set Daryl up to make amends?”

“Mmhm,” she sassed back. “Guess I’ll need a more willing victim.”

“Understood, let’s find Carol, she's half in love with him after today.”

“Perfect, let's get her. She’s probably hanging laundry,” was her initial sarcastic agreement. After a few steps in silence, she grew serious. “Carol needs to learn her worth before we can let a man near near her again. Especially one like Daryl.”

The first half of her statement sent you in for a hug. But the second sentence in her statement put you right back on defense and simultaneous offense. What came out of your mouth as you sought clarification, however, was unproductive. “Seriously?”

Per usual, Andrea remained unruffled. She held a hand up. “Based on what I know, your bar is high enough to do pull-ups on. Now, you’d help hoist someone up to your bar—and would kick off anyone who tried to lower it.” She gave you a pointed look. “Carol’s bar wasn’t only low, Y/N, it was taken down and used to beat her.”

The mental image struck right in the gut.

Blindly, you followed her past the grove of trees where Otis’ cairn lay, so offered a quick blessing in your head for him.

She turned back to look at you. “Do you understand where I was coming from, Y/N?”

You had to swallow some of the emotion down first. “I think so.”

“You and him, I’d be fine with, because your bar is set high and firm. It would imply good things about Daryl.”

After a sniff, you thanked her, that was a very generous compliment. And unfortunately, unable to not be a weirdo, you mumbled this dumb comment: “I can’t be hoistin’ nobody up until my darn shoulder is healed.”

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

Now

“The motorcycle was Merle’s,” Dale lightly defends. Same response as Andrea, but with more of an understanding tone of voice. He was raised Jewish and lost family during the Holocaust, you know that.

Still, why didn't he react with more gusto, then? You hum and end up matching a sock somewhat aggressively. Which is not a sentence you’d ever have imagined thinking.

“Y/N, you can’t fault the man for accepting his dead brother's gas-friendly, easily repairable and reliable mode-of-transport that can go places bigger vehicles cannot. Him being able to go ahead and scope out the roads has been a boon. The emotional connection to the bike in itself would be understandable.”

“Yes, sir.”

He sighs. “My first thought was one of…how to describe it, uh, it was an...” he considers for a moment. “I suppose the best word is ‘confidence’ in Daryl’s character, if you had taken a shine to him.”

“‘Taken a shine to him?’”

“You know, a fondness for each other.”

“A 'fondness?'”

“Though I suppose the camaraderie that you two have is a commendation for him in itself,” he went on, eyeing you with something of an exasperated look. Good humored, though.

You scratch your nose. “I think we all have some kind of camaraderie or, y’know, a ‘shine’ with him after today.” It would be impossible not to. “To be fair, I couldn’t stop callin’ him pet names earlier. There’ve been a lot of up and downs we’ve gone through together the past few days, I’m not lookin’ too deep into it.” And you were merely so relieved that he was alive after getting grazed by that bullet, which is why you pressed your forehead to his and gave it a kiss.

“And he was injured, a circumstance which tends to encourage terms of endearment,” he kindly agreed. “Nothing wrong with that, kiddo. And there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that he’s not so bad.”

Nodding, Dale points his finger after matching another sock. “For me, what solidified it was when he found out that T-Dog had the blood infection.” He pressed his thumb and pointer finger together. “The man immediately gave us those antibiotics, as well as some painkillers.”

The recollection of that blessed relief trickled from your belly down to your toes and fingertips. And hearing that it had been done ‘immediately’ sent a tightness to your throat. You swallowed.

“However, it was before that, at the quarry, when I really started to trust that the, uh,” he raised his brows, then grinned briefly. “That the ‘first impression’ wasn’t accurate in several ways. One, I imagine you will remember, it was a few days prior to the supply run to the city. The last supply run, as it were.”

You nod. You’d been barred from going due to an uptick in getting migraines the previous two-ish weeks. Must’ve been the barometric pressure or something.

“Daryl had been looking for you, found fresh tracks close to the campsite, if I recall.”

Just then, Glenn walks over with his mouth full of something—oh snap, he’s got a container of honey wheat pretzels. Yay!

He plunks it in the middle of you and Dale and begins to help with the sock-sorting and laundry folding.

Like a starving Dickensian orphan, you zero in on the pretzels and quickly stuff a few too many into your mouth. Glenn finds this very funny, cracks up, and now you’re trying not to snarf as you desperately try to chew and swallow.

“I gave half my supper away,” you do your best to enunciate as you crunch.

“Glad you’re doing better after passing out earlier.”

You press a finger to your lips and subtly shake your head, just in case your brother would somehow overhear it.

“Anyway,” Dale gets back to it, with a handful of the pretzels for his own, “after I explained to him that you were indisposed, he seemed irked, wandered off. Some time later, however, he came back to me with a sports drink in his hand, asking if you’d left your tent yet. It seems that he intended the beverage to go to you.”

The memory kicks in and, mid-motion and mid-chew, you stop reaching to grab the mate to the sock in your hand. Another sensation spreads through your belly, a nice but nervous one. Your eyes flit up at Dale, who paused to take a drink from his water bottle.

“I hadn’t seen you or Amy leave your tent at that point, so let him know,” he narrated, capping his bottle again. “Except, on his way back to his and Merle’s spot, he slowed and crouched to look under the truck. Then, he held out the bottle.” Dale next makes a chuckle that probably qualifies as a ‘guffaw,’ it’s a proper old man belly-laugh. “And to my quite vocal alarm, a skinny, pale little arm popped out from underneath and took it!”

The name “Gollum?” is the unfortunately first thing that enters into your head and, yes, you say it out loud…but it’s cool, because Glenn happens to say at the same time, “Like Sméagol.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“Look who’s talking, dork,” he pokes right back.

“My mind went to the two children hiding behind the Ghost of Christmas Present’s cloak, personally,” Dale muses, then continues the story. “Daryl wandered off on his way after that, but, naturally, I hopped down from the RV to see who on earth was under there." He lifts a shoulder. "I bend down to see who but our young Carl! The boy had already drunk half the bottle, said he felt much better for having done so. It seems he’d felt sick before and crawled under the truck to escape from the sun.”

Daryl gave your Carl a gatorade, too, and said not a word about it.

Good Moses, just when you thought you’d tamped down any notion of irrational affectionate feelings toward that mangy hick...

“With that, little Luis came dragging Miranda over with a cup of water—Miranda had been watching the boys while Lori was out foraging for mushrooms, Eliza must have been with Sophia and Carol.” Another sip from his water bottle. “Mmm. Those mushrooms were a treat,” he said mainly to himself. "Y/N, he found you later and gave you the beverage before you washed up, if I'm not mistaken? He came by with another bottle, I directed him to the quarry lake after seeing you head down with a wash bucket."

You nod. Was it obvious that you flushed when he told you the story?

Because you feel flushed, and that’s with the cool breeze outside this evening. You fold a shirt. Some undies. Match another pair of socks…then you figure you should say something, you’ve been too quiet and Dale is looking at you expectantly. “C-Carl does have a way of, uh, slippin’ out of sight.”

“Like a hobbit.”

“Just like a hobbit, Glenn, the boy coulda burgled us blind.”

Your friend remains mock-serious. “He still might.”

“He’s a tricksy one.” And with that, you take more pretzels. Maybe if you feed the butterflies in there, they’ll get tired and nap. Or, if you stuff enough into your belly, there won’t be enough room for them to fly.

“Hey, saw Shane’s setting up his own tent,” your friend mentions.

“Mm. Privacy will be nice.” You kept your face and voice nonchalant, except for maybe searching a little too intently for the matching sock that was plainly in front of yo—owww, you reached too far with your bad arm.

When you found out from Lori last night about the new baby and who the biological father potentially might could be, it’d felt like the seed of dread that had taken root in you however many months back, regarding Shane, had blossomed.

Now, after you caught him flirting with a very unreceptive and visibly shaken Lori, it feels like the plant shot up and was now pushing against your insides. It’s a wonder the irrational butterflies in your stomach even have room.

“That sound good, Y/N?”

“Huh?”

Glenn nudges you with the side of his foot. “Can you join?”

“Join what?”

“I told you, head was in the clouds,” Dale commented, kindly razzing you.

“Jimmy and I are playing board games later, we want you to come. Beth will be there, too. And maybe Maggie? I-I don’t know…” His cheeks turn purple-red. “Sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds real good. On the porch?”

“Yup.”

“Cool. I’ll be right in the house tonight, anyhow.”

“No way?”

“Way. Daryl needs overnight supervision, I think Carol might will be helping, too?”

Dale looks up from his lap. “Oh, did he enjoy the spam and eggs that she made for him?”

“Not sure, he was asleep last I knew.”

“Ah, that’s right, yes,” he remembered. “Well, maybe in that case she’ll have the pleasure of watching him eat and enjoy. I tell you, it smelled heavenly. She was very intent on making something special for him.”

The first half of what you said was totally innocuous, if maybe on the wishy-washy side.“Who could blame her? After today, she’s probably half in love with the guy.”

But then you followed it up with, “Who isn’t?” and you knew right then that you’d misspoken.

Dale’s made a point to keep his eyebrows level, as if that would help him hide his surprise and suppressed grin better.

But Glenn was under no such pretense, and your best friend dead-ass coughed his mouthful of pretzel.

“Dude—” you go to say.

He held up his hands after getting the pretzel bits off them. “I didn’t say anything.”

You held up yours, too. “I was bein’ objective.”

“Okay, Amy,” he said regarding your choice of word. Amy liked the word ‘objective.’

“Calling me that’s a compliment.”

“We are all objectively in love with Daryl?” he repeated. “Isn’t that a little…wait. Dude, are you saying you—”

“—It was hyperbole.”

“But you’re not, like, do you like him?”

“Now, Glenn,” Dale starts.

That surge of both self-defense that people would think you’d be into a grating racist or that one would be into you collided and was catalyzed with protectiveness against the poor man. That wonderful sumbitch has been on a solid redemption arc, let anybody try to deny it. “Define ‘like.’”

“Like like.”

“Bless your heart, no!” What is with people today? “However, I want you to think back over how he was when we done first met that mangy hick, to today, in terms of his behavior. Try and make like he ain’t grown. Don’t you love a good redemption arc?”

Glenn considered it. “Fair.”

The awful thought that Glenn might not believe you and might think less of you only worsens the mosh pit that is your stomach right now. “I’m gonna, um, g-go grab some of my stuff, bring it inside.”

“Wait, bumpkin, I wasn’t trying to, like—I meant it more as, um,” he can’t seem to get the wording right.

You’re making it worse, man. “Dude, it’s cool, you didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“But like—”

“—Glenn, I’ma start chargin’ a quarter for you using too many ‘likes’ per sentence.”

“Perfect, I’ll charge you for talking too hillbilly.”

Eh. You reckon admit you’ve been speaking a lot more twangy now than you had been at the quarry camp. There’d just been so many new people, you’d toned it down. Maybe being around more folk people who talk like you is why you’ve let it fly. “It’s a deal.”

“Good — you owe a quarter for saying ‘when we done first met’ Daryl,” he races to say.

“And you owe me one for how many likes you done sprinkled durin’ this here conversat—shoot! Did that count?”

“Yup.”

Dale, entertained by the looks of it, cuts in, “See, this is why I’ve been thinking that you two had a fondness for each other.”

“Aw, hear that, buttface?” you giggle, folding the last undershirt from the pile.

“Fondness.” He makes an exaggerated curious face and strokes what would be there if he had a mustache.

“You two expect me to believe there wasn’t fondness between you two?” Dale remarks with a bit of a tut thrown in.

“There still is, it’s just different now,” you insist. And immediately hop into gear to (gently) bust your friend’s balls. “Especially now that Glenny-boy here’s got his eye on a certain mystery lady.”

He’s right there with you. “And now that Y/N’s apparently hopelessly in love with Daryl.”

“There’s such fondness,” you barely manage to say without laughing, as much as it makes your newly stitched abdomen ache.

Dale sighs and throws back a gulp of his water as if it were something stronger. “Glenn, just tread lightly with the certain mystery lady, is all I ask. And Y/N, kiddo,” he looks at you. And winks? “I trust you completely with Daryl.”

“What?” Glenn protests, to which you just slap your leg and snicker “Ha!”

“If between you, there ever was a…” Dale pauses long enough for you to see the twinkle in his eye. “Fondness.”

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

And here's the picture from Dale's memory

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