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rockingbytheseaside · 7 months ago

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✦ The Legend of a Faceless Harbinger

(Imagine Headless Horseman Capitano x reader. No, I won’t elaborate.)

✧ In an unassuming village nestled by a quaint, insignificant hamlet, you lived in a humble farmhouse. A modest living, with but a few sheep and a tightly held community. Everyone knew each other in the village, for its residents were few, fostering familiarity among its inhabitants and their whereabouts.

The villagers liked tales of premonition and the paranormal – stories of vengeful Hilichurls, weeping Seelies, or berserk Witches who burn everything in their path. However, one of the legends was about a Faceless Knight, bloodstained and brooding, with a mighty steed supporting his towering frame. Legend has it that the Knight’s armor once shone silver and pristine, but after years of bloodshed and gruesome battles, the knight’s body shifted to that of a monster; the same ones he once swore to destroy. Now faceless, monstrous, and donning a void-like helmet - the Knight rides off into the night, galloping between the living and dead.

✧ You, on the other hand, disregarded such gossip. If the night was scary because a headless knight reigned dominion over it, then why did you always find solace in it, when the sky is clear and the stars are shining?

You lived by the outskirts and were content taking care of your small flock of chickens and sheep. You had your fresh bread, a small basket of eggs, and homemade dairy. In the early hours of dawn, you took care of your abode, small patches of vegetables sprouting by the sunlight. And in the late hours of dusk, you sat by the windowsill from your bedroom, gazing up at the stars above.

Yet as you silently watched the night, a hidden figure, merging with the shadows gazed back at you. His horse neighed softly until a clawed hand patted its head.

✧ One day, a couple of sheep wandered off from your farmhouse and went missing. The weather was cloudy and the gray clouds threatened a heavy pour if you didn't hurry and found your wandering flock. With your trusty shepherd's crook, you hurried off to run into the forest hoping you'd find them somewhere nearby.

Once you reached the wild forest, it didn't take long to spot your wandering sheep, running in the direction of their baaing. They huddled close by the bushes, grazing on the grass leisurely. You smiled in silent relief, reaching closer toward them until suddenly - you halted. Amidst the dense foliage, a figure emerged, and it dawned on you that your sheep were not simply loitering there by chance. They had been intentionally led here, and at the sight of the stranger, you tensed, clutching your trusty crook. A man on horseback drew nearer, his jet-black steed carefully moving. But the figure was even taller. Dark armor and clanking chains were not as imposing as the sight of his featureless, hollow helmet met you head-on.

It was the faceless Knight. He kept his distance, but his helmet directed straight at you, wordless and careful. With a slight incline of his head, he observed your sheep turning towards you, providing you the opportunity to safely guide your flock home. And as for you? You quivered like a lamb, petrified at the sight of a man of his stature, with only the murky depths of his helmet meeting your gaze.

Thus, you fled. Pushing your sheep hastily from the forest, you didn't look back at the mancing knight. Your heart hammered and you swiftly led your animals back to your farm, locking them in their barn and fearing for your own life.

✧ In the upcoming days, you didn’t dare to exit your house’s safety. You were convinced that you were living your last days, however, nothing amiss occurred. Instead, things got better in your farmhouse. You don’t know why, but The animals scarcely strayed, the howls of wolves seldom pierced the night, and neither hilichurls nor bothersome slimes encroached upon your land.

You felt an air of change in your quaint farmhouse, despite your sense of alarm remaining after meeting the brooding Harbinger.

Occasionally, at the earliest hours of dawn, when you get up, you are greeted with small flowers on the steps of the house. Sometimes it’s plucked lamp grass, and at other times it’s a wreath of valberry leaves. In a state of befuddlement, you’d blink, looking back and forth around your entrance.

You had a secret protector, and your heart yearned to thank whoever that was.

✧ If someone was leaving you small gifts of flora and guarding your house, it was only courteous to thank them. Therefore, you came up with a plan to leave a small assortment of items in a basket as a response. From time to time, by the footsteps of your house, you’d leave a basket with fresh apples. Sometimes, it would be a loaf of bread you baked. These signs of gratitude persisted, and in return, the gifts grew in magnitude. From small bouquets to rare artifacts and even warm pelts.

The routine of offerings and gifts became a way of silent communication with your generous benefactor.

Until one late afternoon, you heard screaming right outside your farmhouse. You dashed out of the house and noticed that the usual basket was gone. You just had it filled with homegrown fruits and baked goods, yet it was missing entirely. When you turned your attention towards the commotion, you gasped in surprise at the sight.

The same faceless Knight, in his clad black armor, dragging a kicking peasant with a firm grip. The man was kicking and screaming in horror, his wrist already marred by the Harbinger’s grip. However, what surprised you, was that the basket was in his arms.

“Please let me go-! I didn’t know! I didn’t know to whom it belonged,” - the peasant was thrown hard onto the ground right in front of your feet, the basket and its good rolling out.

“Lies are inexcusable. And stealing deserves its punishment.”

The Harbinger spoke firmly, marching straight at the man. Overcoming your shock, you understood - this person stole the basket of food you left, but then the receiver who protected your farmhouse all this time is…

You shook your head, and before the faceless entity could take a step closer to the thief, you stood with your arms out - “Wait!”

The Harbinger stopped in an instant, that faceless mask going silent as the armored hand tightly closed into a fist. The peasant was shaking behind you.

“It’s not worth it, just some homegrown food anyway. P-please, let this man go.”

“He stole what you worked hard for. That which is not meant to be his.”

“I know, but it is not a fair punishment to spill blood in return!”

The headless harbinger let out a low rumble, his massive form towering over you and the begging thief. After a prolonged moment of tense silence, he stated his verdict.

“You were lucky to be granted mercy. Heed my words, there won’t be a next time. Go.”

The words were short but decisive, spoken out of pure malevolence towards the one who took your offerings that were intended for him. Crawling on his knees, the man shook and thanked you both for mercy, scurrying off the ground of your farmhouse and running away.

✧ You kneeled by the fallen basket, picking up some of the flowers and fruits that rolled to the grassy ground. As you silently picked them up, you almost flinched when an armored hand appeared in front of you, offering you assistance to get up. When you raised your gaze - a hallow, pitch-black helmet looked back at you.

You placed your hand delicately onto his.

“Excuse me, Mr… uh, Knight. I thank you for catching the thief and my goods. But may I ask: was it you who brought those gifts by the entrance of my house?”

He remains silent for a moment, and you couldn’t tell whether he was contemplating his answer or studying every nuance of your face up close. After a long moment, he slowly nods his head "Yes."

A sigh of relief escaped you. Partly due to your fear of the frightening figure, but also because of your suspicion about who the unseen protector of your farmhouse was.

“Then it was you who kept my rural home safe from monsters or predators.” - you nodded, remembering how your flock of sheep was huddled close and safe even when they all got lost before. “You won’t hurt me…?”

“I could never. You have my vow.”

His voice no longer held that firm animosity it did when he spoke to the thief. Now it was low and deep. His form helped you pick up the dropped belongings and walked you back to the farm.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, a tranquil stillness enveloped the surroundings as you dutifully trailed behind him. A novel sense of anticipation washed over you, distinct from the usual apprehension. For the Harbinger, it was not his first time remaining close to the soil of your modest abode. In fact, he always remained nearby. However, he felt immense guilt for giving you such fright.

“...I owe you an apology. I intruded on your ground when I caught the thief. But even less honorably so, I never revealed myself formally to you. I did not wish to see you scared.”

You listened closely, witnessing the sincerity in his movements. You stood close to the pastors, the grass rustling idly by the night breeze. His ominous figure is a stark contrast to you and your cozy dwelling.

“I understand… I do not blame you. I must also apologize for my startled demeanor. I never expected it would be you who actually helped me all this time.”

The knight tilts his head to the side, keeping a polite hand with yours as he lets you sit on the grass. Every movement he did for you was cautionary and gentle. The two of you sat on the ground, the night sky illuminating the first stars of the night.

“I just wish to know… Why such kindness?” - you asked at last, easing up the courage to look him straight into the hollowness of his helmet.

The anticipated question made the Harbinger go quiet. He couldn't deny it, but he found solace in watching you work. How diligently you took care of your animals, how you watered the vegetation, how you smiled joyously when you’d return with a basket full of fresh eggs. It was a tender sight, even as the harbinger maintained his distance on the forest's periphery, secretly yearning to draw nearer to you.

He wished to tell you so much. About how he finds you to be the loveliest person in all of these lands, the most sincere and hardworking. How he enjoys gazing at you the same way you gaze at the stars. Yet now, being in your proximity, the sight of your beauty up close had rendered his thoughts useless and all he could manage was:

"Perhaps I’m utterly infatuated by you."

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #il capitano x reader #capitano x reader #capitano #il capitano #genshin impact fatui #fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #gender neutral reader #cottagecore #sfw #genshin fanfic #headless horseman #honestly this is purely crackfic that I had to let out of my system #please dont hate me

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bucketbueckers · 1 month ago

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I'D RATHER PRETEND

CHAPTER TWO

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @bueckersg1rl @l0verl4ne @clouded-whispers @dolliest-thena @katemartinlvr @numberonepartyanth3m @glamourdaya | lmk if you want to be added! wc: 7.6k notes: check masterlist for content warnings! honestly a pretty lowkey chap but it's strictly business 🧐 thank you for the love on chapter 1 🫶 i fear this chap and the next couple of parts are slow-ish but i've reread this literally a million times and im sick of it so what do i actually know. no beta we die like brian thompson

'Bueckers and Kennedy, Two Dynasties, Both Alike in Dignity'

College basketball fans are excited for what appears to be the end of the "Tess Kennedy Destruction Tour." After a quiet few days, the South Carolinian guard took to social media where she shared a photo of her and a faceless individual meeting for coffee. The Instagram story was captioned "and a new day will bring about the dawn," a lyric from Frank Ocean's "Sierra Leone." Supporters interpreted this as Kennedy's recovery journey taking a positive turn, but the song lyric was not the star of the show.

Fans were quick to point out the identity of the individual was not as hidden as it seemed. Kennedy's companion was wearing two notable necklaces - one with a silver cross and one with a studded #5. The phone case in camera was also purple with a wallet attached to the back. One commenter pointed out there was a University of Connecticut student ID poking out, and after review, we believe that much is true.

Early speculation declared Kennedy's friend was none other than Paige Bueckers, the star point guard for the University of Connecticut Huskies. Then, roughly an hour after Kennedy's post, Bueckers herself took to her Instagram where she shared a photo of her holding an icepack to someone's left knee. Both Bueckers and the mystery individual are faceless; however, fans noted Bueckers's companion was wearing a silver bracelet with familiar charms and a #25, Kennedy's jersey number.

All of the signs point to Bueckers and Kennedy spending time together, although nothing has been confirmed officially. One fan noted that Bueckers tore her own ACL the year prior, believing that Bueckers flew out to South Carolina to lend a supportive hand to Kennedy amidst her own recovery and hardships. Whether or not this is simply two friends rehabbing together or the most obvious soft launch in basketball history, sports fans are united on two things: Tess Kennedy is beginning to take her recovery seriously, and Paige Bueckers might just be the guardian angel people were calling for.

-Penelope Lancaster, Bleacher Report

MAY 3, 2023

“So, lemme get this straight.”

Tess hums around a mouthful of Chipotle, feeling lighter than she has in weeks. Kamilla and Bree returned to their apartment roughly a half hour earlier and immediately put Tess on the hot seat. Once she made it through her countless apologies and explanations with minimal interruptions, she gave Kam and Bree the green light to ask their questions, and it seemed as though they had plenty.

Kam raises her fingers as she lists off the recent happenings of Tess’s life. “Because you went off a bender–” Tess frowns at the way it’s phrased, “–Amaya is forcing you into mandatory PT, therapy, and a shit ton of PR. Honestly, about fucking time.” Bree snorts, although some of the worry leaves her body. “If all it took was tough love, I woulda been meaner to your ass a month ago.”

“Don’t think it would have had the intended effect,” Tess concedes thoughtfully. She pushes around her rice and chicken, shoveling a pepper in her mouth. “I wasn’t really in a listening mood back then.”

Bree raises a brow. “And you were today?”

The injured guard shrugs a shoulder. “Well, when your manager tells you that your brand deals are about to cut their contracts, and you’re at risk for losing your basketball scholarship for behavior and academic reasons, and you’re slowly killing yourself…that kind of puts things into perspective.”

Kamilla nods solemnly. “And the Paige situation.”

Tess almost flushes under their scrutinizing gaze. She hasn’t forgotten. She has Paige’s receipt tucked into the pocket of her pants, unwilling to throw it away but also feeling weirdly vulnerable for wanting to keep it. It wasn’t a huge gesture by any means. Paige doing PT with her was objectively more intimate than buying her lunch, but the mere idea of Paige saying goodbye to her and sitting in an Uber trying to figure out what Tess likes in her Chipotle bowl is just fucking insane. “Guess I’m not single anymore…so, yay?”

“You’re taking this a lot better than I expected,” Kamilla admits hesitantly. Tess clocks the concern in her expression, like she’s thinking about her next step if she wakes up tomorrow and Tess is back to her old ways. That thought alone makes guilt squeeze at Tess’s heart.

Tess sighs. “It was like a wake up call,” she says after a moment. “Like those stupid ice baths Coach makes us do in recovery.” Kamilla and Bree crack a small smile at the joke. “To me, it was just easier to self-destruct than to let something else kill me. Basketball’s more than a sport to me – it’s my purpose, right? So after I heard I might not be able to play again, I just…let myself sink. And, Christ, people were so cruel online.” Tess huffs out something like a laugh, her throat tight with pain. “It’s funny ‘cause it never bothered me before, but… I just wanted to forget. I wanted them to hurt like I hurt. It was too easy to give into that.” The silence rings out in the living room as Tess searches for her next words. “I don’t think all hope is lost. Today helped me understand that a little better. So, I’m gonna try. I’m just fucking terrified it’s all going to be for nothing, that my knee’s never going to get better and I’m going to put myself through so much pain for a what if.”

“Okay, what if you never play again, but, God, Tess, what if you do?” Kamilla says slowly. “What if you do everything right and you get better and you can play with us again in March? I want that for you. We want that for you. Do you want that for you?”

“I mean, of course–”

“Then do it!” Kamilla exclaims, voice cracking. Tess blinks at her owlishly. She’s never seen Kamilla like this, ever, wide-eyed and desperate. It’s a near 180 shift from the girl she’s spent the last 30 minutes talking to, a complete and total shift from the girl who she’s shared an apartment with for two years. “Please, Tess. Do the PT, your therapy, get back on track; whatever it fucking takes, Tess, you need to do it. We miss you. On and off the court. I know it’s not about me, but watching you throw yourself away like that was the worst thing I’d ever witnessed, especially because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get through to you. I thought I was going to lose my best friend!”

Tess’s jaw falls open as the sudden realization of how badly she’s fucked up dawns on her for the second time that day. “Kam,” she tries, her throat tightening with emotion. The taller woman wipes her eyes, taking in a shuddering breath. Kamilla was never one to be mean, no matter how upset she was – that was a trait of hers that made her such a good leader and role model on the court. She was big on accountability and ensuring that past mistakes would never happen again. Seeing all of the emotion she kept under tight lock and key because she knew she needed to be strong for Tess (even before Tess was aware that she needed someone to be strong for her) is unbelievably sobering.

When Tess and Kamilla first met, they almost instantly knew they would be each other’s best friend. They were alike in so many ways – they were fierce competitors and proud haters of The Office; they bonded over shared struggles of not quite knowing what home was and being just a little too different from everyone else. Tess isn’t sure where she would be without Kamilla. She always prayed she’d never have to find out, but the idea that she nearly subjected Kamilla to finding out where she’d be without Tess feels both arduous and damning.

“Kam,” Tess says again, her mind reeling. “I’m so sorry – I’m so fucking sorry. If I could do it all over again, I would. I’m trying. It’s so hard but I’m trying.”

“I know,” Kamilla says, nodding rapidly. Bree is unnaturally quiet, glancing between the two of them with a conflicted expression. Sure, the three of them shared an apartment, but the bond between Tess and Kamilla exceeded friendship; they were like sisters. Bree knew that and it never bothered her. Now it seems as though she’s unsure where to stand, but she understands that this is a much-needed conversation that Tess and Kamilla need to have. “I know, Tess, I’m just – I’m glad you understand it now. Just… please, please let us help you. Don’t shut us out.”

“I won’t,” Tess vows. “I can’t promise I’m going to be at 100%, but fuck, I’m going to try.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Kamilla concedes.

The living room is quiet for a long while until Bree shifts uncomfortably. “So… PT and mental health counseling, those I understand,” she says. “I’m still a little lost on why fake dating Paige is good for your reputation. Rumors are rumors but…it’s giving new flavor of the week.”

“It’s not like that,” Tess argues, a little too defensively. Bree raises a brow and Tess immediately flushes. She’s not sure why that jab at Paige felt personal. She made a similar jab only a few hours ago. But it wasn’t her business to judge. People have their own reasons to do what they do, right? “Well, she said it wasn’t like that,” she amends, which sounds objectively worse. Tess frowns, wishing she’d just kept quiet.

“Hey, I’m just saying.” Bree raises her hand in surrender. “It’s her vice, right? Her free time is her own, but I mean, she’s Paige Bueckers. It’s easy to get caught up in her. I just don’t want you becoming another notch on her bedpost, even if you’re just fake dating her to make people forget you’re on Twitter restriction.”

Tess wrinkles her nose. “My account is unbanned now, thank you very much,” she deflects, but Kamilla’s knowing expression has her redirecting. “I understand what you guys mean, but you don’t have to worry about that. We’re strictly business.” Bree grins wryly, huffing out something akin to laughter that sounds vaguely like, ‘that’s what they all say.’

“Was the Chipotle strictly business?” Bree asks.

Tess’s face is a perfect picture of confusion, but her heart thrums a little faster at the insinuation. What could she possibly know about that? “What does Chipotle have to do with anything?” she asks casually.

Bree’s smirk widens. “You never order bowls. It’s always a burrito with you.”

“I’m trying something new!”

“Yeah, new like a six-foot blonde hooper–”

Kamilla and Bree break out into howling laughter as Tess buries her head in her hands, blushing again. “Oh, my God. You guys are the fucking worst.”

And, sure – the joke is at Tess’s expense, but she can’t help but feel like everything is aligning once more, that they’re returning to the way they once were pre-injury. She expected that it would have taken her a lot more groveling to earn back their favor. Tess was a huge jerk to them – the more she thinks about what she’d likely said to them under the haze of several shots of tequila, the more she wishes she could take it all back and do it over again. She tore her ACL, a season ending injury for many athletes, and for a smaller few, it changed the course of their careers drastically. Tess wants to find it within herself to have some grace, to understand why she behaved the way she did, but now that she sees it with a clearer mind, she can’t help but be disgusted by herself.

For Kamilla and Bree, it’s probably all water under the bridge. They’re kind people like that, perhaps too kind after the way Tess treated them. Maybe the real gotcha! moment is the idea that Tess didn’t need to earn back their favor, anyhow. Sometimes friendship just works like that – it’s confusing and a great risk, but most times that risk pays off. Sometimes friendship just is, accepting a mistake and trusting that it wouldn’t happen again.

Feeling lighter than she has in weeks, Tess retires to her room for some much needed rest after a long day. She lights a candle, settling against her headboard and adjusting the pillow cushioning her knee. Deciding to face the music sooner rather than later, she begins combing through her mountain of notifications and unread DMs. The apology from Caitlin is touching. Tess feels an odd mix of guilt and appreciation as she drafts out her overdue response: “thank you for checking in, been a rough couple weeks. the injury is not your fault but trust that SC will pick your pockets next year!!!” Caitlin’s own response is swift – a simple 'Bring it on' that Tess can’t help but smile at.

She sends similar responses to some of Caitlin’s teammates and the other college players who reached out. She even had a couple of pros expressing their condolences, which honestly shocked Tess. There was Napheesa Collier, Sabrina Ionescu, and A’ja Wilson – A’ja’s DM made Tess’s Gamecock heart beat just a little faster. She was basically South Carolina royalty. Having that kind of support in her corner fills her with an insurmountable confidence.

Her last post on Instagram was a collection of pictures following their Elite Eight win. The sight of herself from a month ago, healthy and glowing, nearly made her thumb falter as she flicked through the images. It was a simple dump – a couple of action shots, a fierce one of Tess celebrating, one of her setting up for a deep three. It was captioned “nowhere else i’d rather be.” That much was still true. She’s pushed it to the recesses of her mind, but instinctually, she can feel the deep ache and the yearn to get back on the court, even though her knee hardly lets her sleep through the night most of the time.

Her eyes fall to the comments. She knows she shouldn’t look at them. She’s practically memorized each and every single one of them. Her teammates’ comments live at the top, celebrating the win with her; under them, there are newer ones from South Carolina fans, offering prayers and support, confident in their belief that Tess will bounce back from this. She can’t help herself from reading the hate comments, either. Her eyes catch on one in particular. Their username isn’t particularly memorable, but it reads, ‘Upsetting to see how Tess has responded to a normal injury for athletes. It’s shameful that South Carolina has let this go on for so long. Grow up!’

Well, he’s not wrong. Tess’s response was a pretty terrible one and Amaya herself admitted that they made a mistake in handling the situation. Frankly, he should be proud that Tess has grown up! If she read that comment a week ago, she probably would have crashed out. The thought alone makes Tess crack the slightest of smiles. Before she can keep reading, a text message from an unknown number pops up at the top of her screen, inadvertently saving her from a doom scroll.

Yo How’d I do on lunch? It’s Paige btw

Tess fights the warmth she feels in her chest. Honestly, she would have guessed that it was Paige from the ego she can identify through the screen alone, but she saves her contact regardless.

i’m afraid to admit i prefer burritos but the bowl was a 9/10

Paige’s response is swift.

9 cause I’m the 1 you need?

Tess rolls her eyes.

9 bc there was too much pico and bc the girl who ordered it flirts like a 12 year old

That’s insane You KNOW I have better game than that

you have no rizz, just blue eyes and a bunch of nil money like joe burrow if he was a hey mamas lesbian

Gonna ignore that hey mamas comment just cause I fuck with Joe Burrow The Bengals don’t have nothing on my Vikings though

i think i just got the ick im not gonna lie

Are you a football hater???

i don’t watch men’s sports at all i try to protect my peace

Pause So no Lebron???

ok well obviously i’ve watched the NBA

You scared me Don’t say that shit again

why are you so high maintenance

Why are you so mean

someone has to keep you in check settling down, remember?

I think you could be a little nicer!

hmmm i’ll consider ok i decided no

Just plain evil

i need to get my kicks in early if im stuck with you again on friday

You invited me???

i don’t think that’s how that happened

Pretty sure that’s exactly how that happened Paige please come to PT with me 🥺 Please Paige

ok now you’re just being delusional i see how you’re forgetting the whole ‘tess let me buy your coffee 🥺please tess’

Chilllll Did your doctor check you for a concussion after the ACL?? There’s something wrong with your brain

be honest, are you a natural blonde or did you work really hard to be this stupid

Hard work always baby Also, wanted to ask if you wanna come to the airport with me on Saturday, be seen together I fly out at 11:30am so I think it would be good for us The story I mean

you gonna pay for my uber back?

Duh

paige i was kidding

I wasn’t No rizz, just blue eyes and a lot of NIL money, right?

you’re insufferable

So you’ll come?

don’t sound so excited but i will for the story

Of course See you Friday ma 🫶

Tess likes Paige’s message before shutting her phone off with a sigh. She needs a nap.

MAY 5, 2023

Friday arrives after a day and a half of binging 2 Broke Girls, independent physical therapy exercises, and lots of ice packs.

Tess slept like shit Thursday night, though she’s unsure if it’s because of the pain in her knee or because of how badly she wanted to haul her ass to the bar and order a couple of shots to numb the throb. She knew she couldn’t do it, no matter how much she thought she needed it – it was bad enough that she spent half of the night sweating through her shirt and chewing on ice cubes to distract herself from the slow downward spiral of her thoughts. Not addicted, she’d remind herself, nursing a cup with rapidly melting ice as she watched Max and Caroline put themselves in weird ass situations. Psychologically, no. Physically…who knows. Tess certainly doesn’t know what that means, but she’s not addicted, period.

Her first therapy appointment was scheduled for Monday afternoon. She just had to hold out until then. Tess hopes that she would glean something useful from her counselor, but she’s been self aware and independent enough for years that she’s usually good at identifying her problems, though slightly less efficient at figuring out what to do about them. Her typical coping methods included a casual mantra of, ‘Pitbull’s been there, done that,’ and running a couple of drills in the quiet of the gym. And, sure – it sounds weird, but the idea that she’s not the only person facing an issue is comforting enough that she wonders if it’s even that deep. It works most of the time and she’s able to shrug it off. She will admit there’s an eventual crash out one way or the other, but she prefers one big explosion over a series of small, ill-timed ones.

With nothing but time on Thursday night, her Google search history consisted of queries such as how long does it take to establish alcohol dependence and symptoms of alcohol withdrawals. Then, around 3am, she got distracted and switched over to TikTok where she scrolled through edits of herself, but that’s less important. She learned that establishing alcohol dependence usually varies from person to person (Tess hates when something ‘depends;’ why can’t there ever be a straight answer?). It’s less clear if she’s officially ‘addicted,’ but she will concede that after a month of heavy drinking, there’s a little something there. Which isn’t ideal, of course, but hopefully it’s mild at the least. It was only a month and people intervened early…ish – maybe if she sticks to recovery then she should be good and clear within a couple weeks at the most.

Google also informed her of the several symptoms of withdrawals, which usually set in anywhere from six to twenty-four hours after going cold-turkey on the drinks. The withdrawals explained, obviously, the need to ransack the liquor store, but also the restlessness, the slight headache she was nursing for the past twenty-four hours, and the perpetual stomach ache she couldn’t seem to get rid of.

She had some answers. So, things were looking up!

…At least they were until she got the call from Amaya at 9:30 as she was struggling to eat a bagel. Google also mentioned a loss of appetite, which Tess was less than happy about. Much like everything else about her recovery, she would have to force herself into doing a lot of things that her body didn’t want her to do. She’d get used to it. She lets her phone ring for a short moment before she sighs, accepting the call and putting it on speaker, greeting Amaya.

“Good morning, Tess!” Amaya chirps, unusually chipper. The basketball player immediately frowns, brows furrowing.

“You get laid?” she asks, unsure of what else Amaya could be happy about in her life.

She can almost hear Amaya’s eye roll from across the line. “No, not that it’s any of your business, though.”

“Boo.”

“Anyways, back to business.” Amaya clears her throat. Tess can hear the slight shuffle of papers. “So, I really liked what you and Paige did, soft-launch wise. The press is eating it up and so far, both of your brand deals are seeing a slight surge in activity. I’m guessing people are flocking to your accounts for raunchy details and seeing you advertise, um, really cool make up products and homework help.” Tess huffs out a laugh at that. “Good job. Also, Craig let me know you showed up to PT as scheduled on Wednesday and did really well. He said you and Paige worked really well together–”

“Stop,” Tess says, listening to the sound of Amaya’s smug laugh. “Don’t insinuate anything.”

“I’m not insinuating anything!” Amaya says defensively and Tess cracks a smile. “So, we just need you and Paige to keep up what you’re doing. Do the small things for a couple of weeks, then hard-launch. We’re going to give you guys most of the control over that. We want it to seem more authentic and less like two PR agencies trying to salvage their clients’ images.”

“Of course,” Tess says innocently. “She’s coming to PT today. Then I’m going with her to the airport tomorrow.”

Amaya sighs dreamily. “You’re such a wonder to work with when you’re being cooperative.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Tess grumbles, giving up on the bagel and tossing it in the trash.

“Alright, one more thing,” Amaya continues, “then I’ll let you go.” Tess hums. “I need you to draft an apology to post on your socials – and I know, it sounds corny, but–”

“You don’t need to explain why,” Tess interrupts softly. “I got it. I fucked up and I made a huge mess. I’ll email that to you Saturday night.”

Amaya is quiet for a moment, contemplative. “Thank you, Tess. And, hey, how are you feeling?”

Tess doesn’t answer for a beat, considering keeping her thoughts to herself, but she reminds her promise to Kamilla to not shut anyone out, so she sighs. “Um, not gonna lie, I didn’t sleep at all last night,” she admits. “My knee hurt and I really wanted to drink – but I didn’t! I binge watched TV and ate ice cubes. Probably not the best thing I could have done but it was all I had to work with.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Amaya says gently. “It’s gonna be hard for a while, especially when your injury is still new and fresh and you’re all over the place mentally. I’m proud of how you handled it, even if you think you could have done better. Don’t forget you can call that counselor, okay? She’s available at all hours for you.”

“I don’t wanna be a bother–”

“It’s her job,” Amaya states, before adding in a more mother-hen tone, “but she also requested to work with you specifically because this issue is close to her and she really wants to help you. So if you need help, call her. Got it?”

Tess blinks back the impending tears. “Yeah. Got it.”

“Listen, I’m proud of you, I mean it,” Amaya reiterates. “Thank you for being patient and doing this. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Yeah,” Tess says again. “Talk to you soon.”

Amaya hangs up with one final goodbye. Tess presses her head to the cool counter tile and takes a deep breath. She hardly has the time to think before a knock sounds at the apartment door. Already knowing it was Paige, Tess wipes her eyes and slips her crutches under her arms as she slinks towards the door and opens it.

“Mornin!’” Paige greets, far too cheery for barely ten in the morning. She’s holding two cups of coffee in her hands. When Tess glances down, she easily recognizes her coffee order. Then, a frown covers Paige’s face as she walks in and shuts the door behind her. “You good, ma?”

“Just a tough conversation with Amaya,” Tess says as Paige hands her the drink. She takes a long sip, feeling a little more regulated. “Too many feelings.”

Paige smirks at her. “I’m guessin’ she said the same shit my manager called for? ‘Keep up the good work and keep doing couple-y stuff?’”

Tess hums. “More or less. Oh, I also get to publicly apologize, so there’s that.”

The blonde raises a brow as Tess hands back the coffee cup so she can slip into her shoes. “You? Apologize?”

Tess swats her with her crutch, drawing laughter from Paige. “You’re such a jerk. I apologized to you on Wednesday!”

“Yeah, ‘cause you called me a whore,” Paige says with a dramatic pout. “Really hurt my women-respecting feelings.”

“Please walk me to PT and stop talking.”

And Paige does just that. She holds onto both of their coffees as they walk as Tess’s hands are otherwise preoccupied with her crutches. The silence doesn’t last too long before Paige is rambling about all of the questioning she’s getting from her teammates, and Tess can’t help but listen – correction, she has no other choice but to. Paige admits that she doesn’t like keeping secrets from her team, and Tess feels sympathetic enough that she gives Paige the go-ahead to confess their little ruse. Paige’s denial, however, is shockingly mature. “I trust them not to say sum’ maliciously, right? But you never know who’s listening.”

Tess shrugs a shoulder. “If you change your mind, go for it, okay?” she says. “This is our punishment. Don’t wanna fuck up your friendships.”

“S’all good,” Paige says. “Actually, they’re pretty happy about it. Aubrey thinks I’ll play better next season since I ‘got a girl.’”

Tess snorts. “Yeah, you’ll play better until March, then I’ll get cleared to be back on the court and I’ll drop 25 on you.”

Paige wrinkles her nose. “No way, ma. Try 2-point-5. As in 2.5 turnovers every time I guard you.”

Their banter continues until they reach the PT’s office. Craig greets them with an infectious grin and Tess immediately brightens. He helps her take the brace off of her leg and rolls up her pant leg, poking and prodding at her injury. After just a day and a half of actual care, much of the inflammation has reduced.

Craig walks her through some guided exercises, and much to Tess’s silent appreciation, Paige joins them, too. She has a charming smile on her face the entire time, tacking on ridiculous jokes at the absolute worst moments when Tess is out of breath from the stretch and when laughing feels like gasping for air. Paige is strangely helpful. She boosts both Tess’s morale, comforting her in the fact she’s not doing this alone, but she also has a plethora of tips on how to manage the pain and get a better stretch on the exercises. Her hands are warm on Tess’s knee when she adjusts her leg and the way it bends. Craig looks on with an approving nod, though he jokes that Paige is coming for his job, to which Paige huffs, “Tess don’t listen to me.” Tess can only roll her eyes at that, pretending like she doesn’t care about the way Paige’s hands massage the tension out of her leg.

When Craig steps out to grab his wrapping supplies, Paige stretches out her legs and reaches for her phone. “For the gram?” she asks easily, glancing at Tess for permission.

“Don’t call it that,” she grumbles, but nods anyway and pulls out her own phone. “You sound like an old person.”

“You sound like an old person,” Paige mocks, effectively lowering her age by a solid ten years, and Tess rolls her eyes in amusement. She slides a little closer to Tess, reaching for her left leg and draping it over her right one gently, locking their ankles together. “Good?” Tess hums, looking over Paige’s shoulder and throwing a thumbs up into view of the camera. “You’re so unoriginal,” Paige says, but she sticks her free hand in frame and presses her middle and ring fingers to her thumb, raising her index and pinky in the Husky salute.

“That’s basically a hard launch,” Tess says, though she doesn’t really care.

“Everything we do is a hard launch,” Paige retorts. “We got Instagram detectives, remember?”

Tess mulls it over for a second before turning to Paige with a mischievous grin. “You wanna break the internet?”

“Oh, now we’re talking.”

Paige posts her picture to her story, forgoing any sort of caption, and silences her phone. She gives Tess her undivided attention as she plots. Tess pulls Paige closer into her space, hooking her chin over her right shoulder and leaning against her. Setting up her phone at the right angle, she says, “Look to your left,” and Paige does so until her piercings, half of her low bun, and the slight curve of her jaw are the only things in frame. The lights glint off of the diamond studs in her ears – Tess has to resist a smirk at how obvious the picture is, but she quickly controls her expression, her lips drawing into a natural pout as she takes the photo.

“Got it?” Paige asks, tilting her head to look at the photo. A smile covers her face as she takes it in. “Tess, you’re evil. Everyone is gonna flip.”

“My notifications are going to explode,” she says forlornly. “This is the price I pay to be mysterious and sexy.”

“Mysterious, nah,” Paige says. Her eyes linger on Tess’s face for a moment before she breaks out into a grin. “Sexy…? Hell nah.”

Indignant, Tess pushes her away, sending Paige sprawling to the floor dramatically. “Asshole! What happened to those ‘women-respecting feelings?’”

“You just pushed me to the ground!” Paige cries. “Where are your women-respecting feelings?”

Craig walks in just then, his face morphing into amused confusion as he looks between the two of them, wrapping supplies in hand. “Am I interrupting something?” he jokes.

Tess tries to keep the blush off of her cheeks. “Paige is just being mean to me,” she declares. “Poor Tess Kennedy whose left knee doesn’t even work.”

“Bro!” Paige’s tone is exasperated, and it brings a smile to Tess’s face. “You’re full of sh–” Paige cuts herself off with a cough. “...Sharks. Full of sharks.”

Craig chuckles as he examines Tess’s knee one last time before nodding and beginning to wrap it. “Same stuff, okay? Ice it when you do independent exercise, keep using your crutches, absolutely nothing strenuous.”

Tess nods, thanking Craig and heading out with Paige at her side. Even though the PT combined with her lack of sleep the night before has left her exhausted, Tess is in a significantly better mood than she started the day with. It’s likely too early into her recovery to feel any sort of earth-shattering hope, but she can’t help but feel like she’s doing it. She has yet to attend her first therapy appointment and the light at the end of the tunnel is still ten months away, but it feels like she’s making it out alive. And for now, that’s good enough for her.

MAY 6, 2023

Sleep comes easier to her Friday night. The cravings returned in full force as she was getting ready for bed, but Tess was exhausted – she took a melatonin gummy and passed out, although her knee woke her up a time or two. She felt well-rested for the first time in a couple of days. The drinking numbed her enough that she was able to sleep, but the abrupt cut-off has her body in disarray. It’s a double-edged sword. Her body craves it, but every time she thinks about a drink, she’s so disgusted at the thought that she can nearly taste the bile in her mouth. While it makes the cravings subside for a moment, they always return. She takes Tylenol in the morning to ward off the impeding headache and chugs a cup and a half of water, feeling as though she needs to flush all the bullshit out of her body.

Kamilla and Bree are up early and the three of them mill about the kitchen as they prepare a light breakfast. It was a Saturday morning tradition for them, usually consisting of pancakes, bacon, and eggs and a lengthy conversation about their weeks or anything in general. They’ve missed out on it for the past month for…obvious reasons that Tess already nurses a lot of guilt over, but she’s keen on making up for lost time. Kam and Bree put her on bacon duty as it’s the least strenuous. She portions the meat in the pan and slides it into the oven as Kam and Bree bicker over their shared stovetop space.

It’s grounding. Tess contributes where she can, enjoying the peace of the moment and laughing along with her teammates when they say something stupid. It nearly makes her forget about her knee, about the guilt she’s working through as she continues to make amends. Part of her wonders why she’d ever resorted to shutting everyone out and losing herself when all she really needed was to just let them in. She watches Kam shout in indignation as Bree jokingly flicks a bit of pepper into her pancake batter, and all Tess can think about is how could she ever hurt those girls. She remembers her promise. Tess has let too many terrible things become a habit, but she refuses to let mistreating her friends be a continued one.

They all sit to eat and the chatter only stops long enough to pass around their bottle of maple syrup and the butter. Kam and Bree ask how PT’s been going, and Tess is honest when she answers. She’s only two days into it and more often than not, it hurts – but she knows it’s for the better. She doesn’t voice the worry that she might stop taking it as seriously once Paige is back in Connecticut. Tess was only partially joking when she told Craig she had an enforcer. Paige holds her accountable in a way she’s been trying to force herself into doing, but her mind is still such a mess that it’s difficult and all she wants to do is mope in bed all day. She knows Kam and Bree wouldn’t let her live that down and she doesn’t want them to feel like she still needs a babysitter.

They tell her that they're proud of her, and Tess feels the tears well up as she tells them to shut up.

“She’s so back,” Kamilla cheers, high-fiving Bree. “Our little ball of sunshine.” Tess can only roll her eyes.

Breakfast ends and Kam and Bree ensure that they’ve got the dishes. The clock on the stove reads 10:30. Tess knows that Paige is likely on her way. She hugs them both, promising to be back once she’s seen her off, and slips into her shoes just as a knock rings out at the door.

Paige’s brows draw into a dramatic furrow once they come face to face. “Damn, you opened this door mad quick,” she says. “Tryna get rid of me that fast?”

Tess cracks a smile, shutting the door behind them with the leg of her crutch. “The sooner you’re out of South Carolina, the better.” They walk down the hallway.

Paige sighs as she punches the elevator button for the lobby. “You’ll miss me,” she says, assured. “You’re gonna miss me bringin’ you coffee, DoorDashing you Chipotle, and making sure you don’t re-tear your ACL.”

“On the contrary…I’ll enjoy the peace and quiet.” Paige shoots her a dirty look and Tess can’t help but laugh.

Paige escorts her to the Uber she has waiting for them. She holds onto Tess’s crutches as she helps her into the passenger side backseat, laying her leg flat against the leather. Her foot nearly brushes the door. Confused and wondering what Paige is doing, the blonde shuts the door and rounds the side. As she settles in, she drapes Tess’s leg over her lap. “You good?”

Mouth dry, all Tess can do is nod, and Paige leans forward enough to instruct their Uber driver to head to the airport. Her palm falls flat on Tess’s shin, her thumb brushing against her leg, and with the way Paige stares out of the window, it’s almost like she doesn’t even register what she’s doing. Their ride is quiet, save for the driver's soft R&B that Paige bobs her head to. Tess slips her phone out of her pocket and snags a quick photo, flipping her phone screen to show her. Paige smiles at her wordlessly, knowing they shouldn’t verbally scheme in front of the driver, and Tess posts the photo to her story.

She refreshes her feed, combing through all of the shit she’s been tagged in from various college basketball update accounts and Instagram sleuths. She and Paige are the face of a new account named taigeupdates – which Tess is assuming is supposed to be their ship name? Given that the alternative is Pess – not that Tess has given it any thought, because she hasn’t! – she could live with it. The admin already has Tess’s story reposted and the comments are flooding in with many begging for an official hard launch since it’s already obvious.

Their driver parks in the designated drop off lane and Paige helps Tess out of the backseat, ensuring she’s stable on her crutches before she’s looping around to the trunk and pulling her carry-on and suitcase out. Tess can already feel the eyes on them, the hushed whispers of, “Is that Paige Bueckers and Tess Kennedy?” And despite years in the spotlight, she can’t help the anxious flush that creeps up on her neck. Having so many eyes on her makes her feel vulnerable enough, but combined with the fact she has a huge brace on her leg and she’s walking around with crutches? She feels uncomfortable, like she’s a pacing animal behind bars in the zoo.

“Ready?” Paige murmurs, stepping up behind her, pressing her free hand to the palm of Tess’s back. The touch comforts her slightly, but only because she’s accustomed to Paige right now and because they’re in this together. Tess gives her a solid nod, tightening her hands around the bars of her crutches. The blonde moves her hand down to her hip to give her a reassuring squeeze before placing it at the center of her back. Paige leads them into the airport, though she leans down, her mouth close to Tess’s ear as she whispers. “We shoulda talked about this earlier, but…what’s on and off limits right now?”

Tess swallows, trying to ignore the nerves. “Just do whatever feels right,” she answers honestly. “The media knows we just spent three days together, right? Don’t overthink it. I’m your girlfriend sending you off at the airport. Make it look like that and not two strangers trying to look the part.”

Paige grins insufferably at her. “Aw, I think that’s the first time you claimed me,” she says. Tess rolls her eyes, tempted to swat her with her crutch, but decides against it. The last thing she needs is Paige tripping and fucking up her knee even more. “So…nothing's off limits?”

“You wanna kiss me so bad you look stupid,” Tess says, nudging Paige with her elbow. From the corner of her eye, she can see the phone camera pointed at them, so she swallows her pride and looks up to Paige with a grin. “I think we should hug for sure. Anything else is too soon...like I said, we've spent three days together. I don't U-Haul.”

“Fine by me,” Paige says, looking far too comfortable as she walks through the airport. “Don't wanna do nothing you're uncomfortable with. Even if it would break the Internet. I know you like that shit.” Tess shrugs, but she was pleased with the media’s reaction so far. Between the two of them, Paige was definitely the menace and chaos-monger, although Tess enjoyed setting a fire once in a while. They finally reach Paige’s terminal and she leaves Tess’s side long enough to check in at the counter.

While she’s gone, a teenage girl approaches Tess with a shy expression, phone clutched in hand. “Excuse me, are you Tess Kennedy?” she asks.

“Guilty,” Tess jokes, leaning on her healthy leg.

“Do you mind if I get a picture?”

Tess shakes her head, saying, “Not at all,” as she moves to stand next to the girl. She angles the phone and Tess throws up a peace sign, grinning, and she snaps the photo. Before either of them can say anything else, Paige is walking back from the check in counter and the girl looks like she’s about to start doing cartwheels.

“Is that–”

“Unfortunately,” Tess sighs, which makes the girl laugh and Paige narrows her eyes. Remembering where they are, Tess smiles innocently.

“Can I get another picture with the both of you?”

Paige and Tess can’t resist. Paige rarely turns down her supporters in the first place, and all Tess can think about when she’s in these situations is all the times she’s ever met her idols and how it changed her life. Being in a situation to give back to the youth like that is one of the best parts about playing basketball. They pose on either side of the teenager as she takes the photo, and after quick hugs and a lot of gratitude, Paige and Tess are left alone.

Tess checks the time, realizing that Paige is boarding soon. The overhead PA confirms as much and Paige glances at Tess once more, hiking her carry-on bag higher on her shoulder. “You gonna miss me?” she asks teasingly, and Tess taps her chin, thinking.

“Hmm,” she ponders. “Not one bit.”

“You will,” Paige says confidently. “I got motion like that.” Tess rolls her eyes, unable to curb the warm fondness in her chest. She just pretends like it doesn’t exist. “Make sure you eat, alright? And go to PT. And be real with your therapist. Lemme hear you’re bein’ irresponsible and I’ll fly back down to set you straight.”

“Yes, Paige. Anything else?”

Paige shrugs, an easy smile on her face. “I know you pretend like you’ont like me, but I had fun with you. Even when you were mean.”

“Not mean,” Tess argues weakly. She can’t hide how touched she is by Paige’s words. “Just trying to keep your ego at a reasonable level.”

“Whatever you say, ma,” the blonde concedes. She opens her arms and Tess forgets all about the media, their story, whatever it is they’re supposed to be pretending to do as she wraps her arms around Paige’s waist. She could care less about the cameras, about the social media explosion they’re undoubtedly causing. Paige’s hands are warm on her back and her perfume makes Tess’s head spin. “Gimme a call if you need anything, I mean it. Don’t try to do this by yourself. Promise me.”

“Promise,” Tess vows. Paige pulls back ever so slightly, her eyes studying Tess’s face as her hands slide down her back, resting on her hips. Paige smiles at her and gives her a gentle squeeze before pulling away completely. She and Paige are both flushed, though the red creeping up Tess’s neck feels strangely like embarrassment.

“Call you when I land?” she asks quietly. Tess nods, forcing a smile, and they share their final goodbyes before Paige walks away.

Tess watches as she goes, suddenly hyper aware of the cameras and the crowd, and she holds back a sigh. She needs to get it together. None of that was real. She’s just a mess emotionally, touch-starved after a month-long crash out, and she’s letting it get to her head. She’ll feel more regulated after a nap and some stretches.

Hopefully.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #paige bueckers x oc #uconn #uconn wbb #wbb x reader #ncaa wbb

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heymeowmao · 3 months ago

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探晴安 | Dawn Amidst Hidden Clouds E8 ° Lou Mingye & Lan Che

#探晴安 #Dawn Amidst Hidden Clouds #cdrama #Chang Huasen #Zhao Qing #character: Lou Mingye #character: Lan Che #meowmao gifs

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novaursa · 5 months ago

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Please please please 🙏🏻🙏🏻 publish your Arthur Dayne and Targaryen stories! I have always wanted to read those but there were never enough of them. For me it would be ultra win because I absolutely LOVE your writing and have been following you for quite a while and have read almost all what you have published

The Price of Fire (1)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is second child born to King Aerys II and Queen Rhaella. Timeline and plot are all over the place to suit the story.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (all warnings are up for this one, Aerys II is a warning on his own)

- Word count: 6 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy

- A/N: So, here it is. I hope you enjoy it. This was made as a one long chapter, but I had to separate it due to the character limit here. For more parts of this story and my other works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Next chapter: 2

You stand in the Great Hall of the Red Keep, at your brother's side, beneath the shadow of the Iron Throne. The dark room echoes with the low murmur of lords and courtiers, their whispers mingling with the crackle of distant torches. Your head is bowed, your gaze directed to the cool stone floor, every inch the obedient princess that King Aerys II expects. But as the flicker of torchlight catches on polished steel, your eyes drift upward—just for a heartbeat.

Ser Arthur Dayne, resplendent in his armor, stands tall and unyielding among the Kingsguard. The white cloak draped over his broad shoulders reflects the firelight like the dawn. His expression is the picture of calm, yet his eyes—those pale, lilac-gray eyes—meet yours in that fleeting moment. Warmth curls in your chest, unbidden and unmistakable. There is a softness in his gaze reserved only for you, a silent promise hidden within those depths, something tender amidst the ironclad duty.

Rhaegar shifts beside you, the smallest of movements, but enough to bring you back to the present. His silver hair glints under the dim light as he turns his head ever so slightly. You feel the weight of his gaze, even without looking. He caught it, just as he always does—the silent exchange that passes between you and Ser Arthur. Your brother says nothing, but you know Rhaegar too well. He fears for you, not because he disapproves, but because of what your father might do should the king’s fractured mind discover this delicate thread of affection. Aerys has grown unpredictable—dangerous—in his madness since Duskendale, and the court is rife with suspicion and fear.

"Y/N," Rhaegar’s voice is gentle, barely a whisper, but it pulls you from your thoughts. You glance up at him, noting the concern that shadows his violet eyes. "It is nearly time for Father’s entrance. Be mindful, please."

You nod, an obedient response, though your heart is still tangled in that single look shared with Arthur. "Of course, brother," you murmur, the words escaping like a breath you didn’t know you held.

Before you can say more, the heavy doors groan open. All conversation dies instantly, and the tension in the hall thickens like a storm cloud. King Aerys sweeps in, his once regal bearing now marred by the gauntness of his frame and the wild gleam in his eyes. His silver hair, long and unkempt, hangs like a veil, doing nothing to mask the haunted expression etched across his face. The court bends the knee, yet you remain standing beside Rhaegar, who doesn’t flinch. You sense Ser Arthur’s presence still, always close, but your eyes remain trained forward. For now.

“Where is my son?” Aerys’ voice rings out, sharp and edged with paranoia. His eyes dart wildly around the hall before settling on Rhaegar. “Here you are, at last,” he sneers, the words twisted with mockery. “And your sister, too. Always so… dutiful.” The king’s gaze slides to you, and you force your face into an expression of perfect neutrality. The madness lurking behind his eyes makes your skin prickle, but you do not falter.

Rhaegar steps forward, ever the prince and heir, with a grace and poise that belies the tension simmering beneath. “Father,” he addresses Aerys with that same calm tone, though you can hear the tightness underneath. “The court gathers to hear your will.”

The king’s laughter bursts out, a brittle sound that echoes unpleasantly. “My will?” he repeats, almost mocking. “Yes, my will indeed… I shall have it obeyed.”

You feel it again—Arthur’s eyes on you. You dare a quick glance toward him, longing to feel the comfort of that gaze, the reassurance that you are not alone in this court of shadows. For the briefest instant, your eyes meet his, and despite the chaos that surrounds you, there is something grounding in that unspoken connection. Rhaegar shifts again, but this time, he does nothing to draw attention to your exchange. Perhaps he understands that in this court, where every move could be watched and twisted, a single kind look is the only sanctuary you have.

The tension in the room grows as Aerys' mood shifts again, unpredictably. “They plot,” he hisses, half to himself, half to the court. “Everyone plots.” His eyes land on you again, a flash of something sinister crossing them. But before he can speak, Rhaegar smoothly steps forward, drawing his attention away.

“Father, the lords await your command,” Rhaegar says, with a tone that brooks no refusal.

Aerys blinks, seemingly caught off guard by his son’s boldness, then barks out another shrill laugh. “Yes… yes, they do. We mustn’t keep them waiting, must we?”

The king’s focus shifts to the matters of the realm, his erratic mind drawn elsewhere, and the danger passes—for now. But you know better than to assume safety within these walls. As the court proceedings drag on, your mind drifts back to that moment—just a glance, but in it, you found strength.

You have long wondered how much longer you can endure the gilded cage of the Red Keep. And how long Ser Arthur can maintain the distance that duty demands. There are lines neither of you should cross—lines your brother understands all too well. But as you catch one final glimpse of Arthur at the edge of the hall, you can’t help but wonder if one day, one of you will step over that line, consequences be damned.

The gardens of the Red Keep are a rare oasis amidst the dull and somber atmosphere of the castle. The scent of blooming roses and honeysuckle mingles with the warmth of the afternoon sun, a welcome contrast to the cold, shadowed halls you’ve grown accustomed to. It’s a rare gift, this stolen moment of freedom. Your father’s whims are unpredictable, and more often than not, he keeps you locked away like a caged bird, much like your mother. You shudder at the thought of her—of the haunted look in her eyes and the endless hours she spends trapped in her chambers.

But today, you walk among the flowers, the soft crunch of gravel beneath your slippers a soothing rhythm. Beside you, Ser Arthur Dayne maintains a respectful distance, his hand resting on the hilt of Dawn, but you can sense his ever-watchful presence. His silent vigilance offers a comfort that words cannot. Even in a world as perilous as yours, with schemes and shadows lurking around every corner, there is a rare peace in these stolen moments with him.

You pause by a fountain, letting your fingers trail through the cool water as your gaze lifts to the sun-dappled trees. For a moment, you think you see a flicker of movement in the shadows—something, or someone, watching. You stiffen, narrowing your eyes, but whatever it was vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Varys, you wonder? The Spider is known for his silent comings and goings, slipping through the cracks in the walls like a wisp of smoke. Your heart skips a beat, unease rippling through you.

Ser Arthur steps closer, sensing your discomfort. “Is something amiss, my lady?” His voice is low, a quiet rumble that always soothes you.

You hesitate, searching the shadows once more, but find nothing. “Perhaps just a trick of the light,” you murmur, though you are not entirely convinced. “These gardens hold more eyes than petals, it seems.”

He gives a slight nod, acknowledging the subtle warning in your words. “In the Red Keep, one is wise to assume they are always being watched.” There’s an undercurrent of concern in his tone, though his face remains as composed as ever.

You continue walking, this time with him closer than before, and the silence stretches between you, comfortable in its own way. You want to speak, to say something meaningful, but the walls of the Red Keep have ears that are eager to twist even the most innocent of conversations. Still, you crave the solace of his voice, the reassurance that he is not merely your sworn sword, but a kindred spirit in a place devoid of trust.

“Do you ever miss the lands beyond these walls?” you ask, keeping your tone light, as if you were asking about nothing more than the weather. “The Dornish marches, the green fields of the Reach… there must be so much more color there than in this dreary castle.”

Arthur’s expression softens, and for a brief moment, the stern knight disappears, replaced by the man beneath. “There is beauty in those places,” he replies, his voice laced with a wistfulness that rarely surfaces. “But it is not the land that makes one long to return. It’s the people—the bonds we forge. Even the most barren desert can feel like home if it is shared with those who matter.”

Your heart stirs at his words, though you must force yourself to remain composed, even as a longing thrums in your chest. He has always spoken carefully, never crossing the invisible lines that bind him to duty, yet somehow, you hear more in his words than what is spoken aloud. It’s a delicate dance, this back-and-forth between propriety and affection, a dance you’ve grown far too familiar with.

“You speak of home,” you reply softly, allowing the faintest of smiles to curve your lips, “but I wonder… can such a place be found within these walls?” You meet his gaze, searching his eyes for an answer he cannot give outright.

He holds your gaze, the sunlight catching the dark strands in his hair, and for a heartbeat, it feels as though the world narrows to just the two of you. But even here, in the relative seclusion of the gardens, you both know better than to let such moments linger too long.

Arthur’s expression shifts, returning to the disciplined mask of a knight sworn to serve. “Home is not always a place, my lady,” he says, with a hint of something deeper beneath the words. “It is where we find those who understand us, who see us for who we truly are.”

You swallow, your pulse quickening. For a moment, you wish you could strip away all pretense, speak freely, and tell him what you truly feel. But such wishes are dangerous. Instead, you look away, focusing on the roses lining the path, their petals a vibrant red, like spilled blood.

“We must be careful, Arthur,” you say at last, your voice barely above a whisper. “The more we understand one another, the more dangerous it becomes.”

He nods, a subtle acknowledgement that you both tread a perilous line. “I will always protect you, Y/N,” he says, his tone so low that it is almost lost beneath the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves. “Even if it is from dangers neither of us can see.”

The sound of distant footsteps snaps the moment back to the harsh reality of your lives. A servant rounds the corner, head bowed, but you know better than to believe you’ve gone unnoticed. Eyes are always watching, ears always listening. The game of shadows never ends.

“Come,” Arthur says, his voice now cool and formal again. “We should return before your father sends for you.”

You nod, but as you walk back toward the keep, you steal one more glance at him from the corner of your eye. He remains steadfast, a silent guardian, and yet, in that brief look, you know the truth: you are not alone in this twisted web of power and duty. In a world where trust is a luxury, you have found it in the one man who should be least able to give it.

The sun has dipped below the horizon, casting shadows through the torch-lit corridors of the Red Keep. The air cools with the onset of evening as you walk in silence beside Ser Arthur, each footstep a measured echo in the darkened hall. The weight of the day, of the court’s endless politics and the careful masks you must wear, presses down on you, but beside him, there is a comfort in the silence. It is an unspoken understanding, the kind that has grown between the two of you over time. Your heart aches with the tension of things left unsaid, desires left unrealized, but this is the life you’ve been given—duty, restraint, sacrifice.

You reach your chambers at last. The door, carved with intricate dragon motifs, looms before you, signaling another night alone, locked away as though you were a fragile thing in need of constant guarding. Arthur moves ahead to open the door, his hand brushing against the wood before he pauses, turning back to you. The look you exchange in that moment says more than words ever could. His eyes, that soft lilac-gray, are filled with a longing so deep that it nearly undoes you. You catch your breath, torn between the duty you know he must uphold and the yearning that flares every time you see him.

“Goodnight, Ser Arthur,” you say quietly, your voice betraying a tremor of emotion despite your best efforts.

“Goodnight, my lady,” he replies, the words careful, yet heavy with something unsaid. His eyes linger on yours, as if he is memorizing the moment, a stolen fragment of time he can carry with him through the dark hours of the night.

Reluctantly, you step inside, closing the door with a soft click. On the other side, Arthur remains, taking his place as your silent sentinel, guarding the one person he cannot bear to lose.

Arthur stands there, unmoving, his hand still resting on the hilt of Dawn as he watches over the door. The corridor is empty, save for him, yet he knows better than to relax. The Red Keep is never truly quiet. Whispers travel faster than ravens, and secrets are carried by the very walls. Yet, as the minutes stretch into hours, it is not the shadows that gnaw at him—it is the battle raging within his own heart.

How long has he been fighting this? The pull he feels toward you, the forbidden warmth that rises in his chest whenever you so much as glance his way? As a knight of the Kingsguard, his vows are clear: to protect, to serve, to remain untainted by the desires of the flesh. But those vows are meant for ordinary service, for loyalty to the crown, not for resisting the affection that has grown between you. Not for denying a feeling that has grown stronger with every quiet conversation, every fleeting look.

Arthur draws in a deep breath, trying to quell the storm within him. He recalls the words he was told as a young knight: Duty above all else. He has lived by that creed, upheld it in every way, yet here he is, torn by feelings that are as dangerous as they are undeniable. You are more than just a royal charge to him; you are a woman with whom he has shared moments of unguarded truth, glimpses of a bond neither of you can fully express. And it is agony.

His thoughts betray him, wandering to what might have been if he were not bound by duty. If he could cross that threshold, take your hand, and offer something more than just the cold protection of a sword. In those rare moments when the world seems to fall away and it’s just the two of you, he wonders—could there ever be a place for them, a world where duty does not shackle his heart?

But these are dangerous thoughts, traitorous even. A man in his position cannot afford such indulgences, not when a single misstep could destroy everything. And yet… he cannot help but wish.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls him from his thoughts. Ser Barristan Selmy, clad in the white cloak of their shared brotherhood, strides down the corridor with the ease of a man who has seen the passage of many years and many battles. His expression is unreadable, but there is a knowing gleam in his eyes as he comes to stand beside Arthur.

“Ser Arthur,” Barristan greets with a nod, his voice low and gruff.

“Ser Barristan,” Arthur replies, nodding back.

For a moment, neither man speaks. The silence stretches, thick with unsaid words, until Barristan breaks it, his gaze shifting to the door you just passed through. “She’s been locked away more often lately,” Barristan comments, almost absently, though Arthur can hear the edge of concern in his voice. “It’s a cruel thing to keep a young woman caged like that.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens. “It is for her protection. You know as well as I do that her father’s mind is… unstable. She is safer in there than at court.”

Barristan grunts in acknowledgment, but his eyes remain on Arthur, assessing. “Perhaps. But protection comes in many forms, doesn’t it? Sometimes, what we think is shielding someone can be its own kind of harm.”

Arthur turns to look at him, something shifting in the air between them. “What are you saying, Ser Barristan?”

“She cares for you,” Barristan says, his voice lowering, almost a whisper in the stillness of the corridor. “Anyone with eyes can see it. Even Rhaegar knows, though he does nothing about it. Perhaps he understands more than we give him credit for.”

Arthur’s heart hammers in his chest, but he forces himself to remain composed. “It is not my place to speak on such matters,” he replies, his voice tight with the effort to maintain control.

“No,” Barristan agrees, “it isn’t. But there are times when duty and honor are not the only things worth considering.”

Arthur turns to look at the older knight, caught off guard by the unexpected words. “What are you suggesting, Ser?”

For a moment, Barristan is silent, his gaze distant as though lost in memories of his own. Then he fixes his eyes on Arthur, a sharp gleam in them. “Go in to her,” he says, each word deliberate.

Arthur stiffens. “I cannot.”

“You can,” Barristan says, his voice firm. “And you should. I’ll stand guard.” He steps closer, his tone softening as if offering Arthur a lifeline. “I’ve fought beside you, watched you for years. You are the finest knight I’ve known, but even the finest deserve something for themselves. Go to her, if only for tonight.”

Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but the words die on his lips. The longing he’s kept buried surges to the surface, nearly overwhelming him. Barristan’s words cut through the chains of duty that have held him in place, offering a glimpse of a path he’s denied himself for so long.

“Do not hesitate, Arthur,” Barristan says, his tone almost fatherly now. “She is alone, and there is no telling how long she will be safe in this place. Give her what comfort you can.”

Arthur’s breath catches, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his desires. He knows what it will mean if he steps through that door, the line he’ll cross, the oaths he’ll bend. But in this moment, with Barristan’s silent permission, he feels a rare clarity.

“I’ll stand guard,” Barristan repeats, a final push.

Arthur nods slowly, his decision made. He turns toward the door, his hand hovering over the handle. There is no hesitation this time, no second thoughts. The pull is too strong, the ache too deep.

With one last look at Barristan—who merely inclines his head in a gesture of understanding—Arthur opens the door and steps inside.

And as the door closes behind him, sealing the two of you away from the world outside, all pretense of restraint falls away.

The door clicks shut behind Ser Arthur as he steps into your chambers, the soft sound echoing in the silence. For a moment, neither of you speak. The tension hangs in the air, heavy and electric, the culmination of all the glances, all the stolen moments, all the words left unsaid. You turn to face him, your heart pounding, your breath caught somewhere between anticipation and fear.

Arthur’s eyes meet yours, filled with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He takes a single step forward, his expression torn between his unwavering sense of duty and the undeniable pull toward you. “We don’t have much time,” he murmurs, his voice hushed. “Ser Barristan is standing guard, but even that might rouse suspicion if anyone notices.”

The words are practical, laced with urgency, yet you can hear the longing beneath them—the way his resolve wavers just at the sight of you. Slowly, you approach him, your movements deliberate, as if savoring every second that this forbidden moment allows. You reach up and gently place your hand on his cheek, the roughness of his stubble beneath your fingertips grounding you in this reality. It’s a tender touch, yet it speaks volumes—of trust, of yearning, of the unspoken bond that has grown between you.

Arthur closes his eyes briefly, leaning into your touch as though he’s starved for it. “I’ve fought this for so long,” he confesses, his voice low and filled with a vulnerability he rarely allows himself to show. “But I can’t fight it anymore, not when you’re right here before me.”

“There’s nothing to fight,” you whisper in return, your voice trembling with emotion. “It’s just us, Arthur. Let it be just us tonight.”

He opens his eyes, and in them, you see the struggle slip away, replaced by something far more powerful—desire, affection, and a need that can no longer be contained. The distance between you closes as his hand reaches up to cover yours, pressing it more firmly against his cheek, his gaze never leaving yours.

Without another word, he dips his head and captures your lips in a kiss, the contact sending a rush of heat through your entire body. It’s soft at first, tentative, as though he’s afraid of breaking the fragile moment. But as you respond, leaning into him, the kiss deepens, filled with all the pent-up longing you’ve both kept hidden for so long. There’s a sense of inevitability to it, as though everything has been leading to this very moment.

Arthur pulls you closer, his arm wrapping around your waist, and you lose yourself in the taste of him—the warmth, the tenderness that gives way to something fiercer, more urgent. The shackles of duty, of propriety, fall away with every breathless kiss, every brush of his lips against yours. You feel the way his resolve crumbles completely, giving in to the desire you’ve both tried so hard to deny.

Your fingers move to the clasps of his cloak, undoing them with trembling hands, and he mirrors your movements, his touch reverent as he loosens the laces of your gown. There is no haste, no rush, just a careful savoring of each step, as though this moment is too precious to hurry. His gaze never leaves yours, even as he helps you slide out of your garments, the fabric pooling at your feet. His eyes hold a mix of awe and devotion, as though he’s committing every detail to memory.

When at last you stand before him, bared to one another in every sense, the air between you crackles with an unspoken intensity. He leans in to kiss you again, and this time, it’s different—slower, deeper, filled with a longing that borders on desperation. His hands roam over your skin, gentle but with a hunger that betrays the careful restraint he’s clung to all this time.

You guide him toward the bed, your steps slow and deliberate as if savoring every heartbeat that passes. He follows, his gaze locked on yours, his breath uneven. When you reach the bed, he pauses, a moment of hesitation in his eyes as he considers the weight of what you’re both about to do.

“Are you certain?” he asks, his voice hoarse, laced with concern. “I don’t want to rush you, to take something from you that can never be undone.”

You shake your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you pull him closer. “There’s nothing to take,” you reply, your voice firm with resolve. “I want this, Arthur. I want you. We’ve waited long enough.”

His eyes darken with emotion as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “Then I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he promises, though you can see the struggle within him—the battle between the desire to cherish you and the need to finally give in to what he’s denied himself for so long.

He lowers you onto the bed with a care that makes your heart ache, his hands steady as they explore every curve of your body, learning, memorizing. His touch is soft at first, as though mindful of your innocence, but you can see the restraint it takes for him to hold back.

But you don’t want restraint—you want to feel all of him, every part of him that’s been hidden behind layers of armor and duty. You urge him on, your hands running down his back, pulling him closer, until there’s nothing left between you but skin and breath and the shared heat of your desire.

“Don’t hold back,” you whisper, your voice laced with urgency. “I don’t want to waste this moment away, Arthur. Not when we don’t know how long we have.”

That’s all it takes for his control to finally snap. The tenderness gives way to something more primal, the repressed desire that has simmered beneath the surface for far too long. He kisses you with a fervor that leaves you breathless, his lips trailing down your neck, your shoulders, igniting every inch of skin he touches. The world outside ceases to exist—there’s only the two of you, the night wrapping around you like a cloak, hiding you away from prying eyes.

When he finally joins you, the connection is nothing short of profound—a culmination of all the longing, the stolen glances, the silent promises. He moves slowly at first, every motion careful, measured, as though determined to savor every second. But the intensity between you builds quickly, and the tenderness is soon overtaken by the passion that neither of you can hold back any longer.

Your hands grip his shoulders, your bodies moving in perfect sync, lost in the rhythm of your shared desire. The quiet gasps and whispered names fill the air, mixing with the scent of sweat and skin, creating a heady blend of sensations. Arthur’s restraint slips further as he gives in to the raw need you both feel, his movements becoming more urgent, driven by the fear that this moment could slip away too soon.

There’s a desperation in the way he holds you, as though he’s trying to make up for all the time lost, all the years spent denying himself what he truly wanted. The pleasure builds between you, cresting like a wave ready to break, and when it does, it’s a shattering release, a culmination of everything held back for so long.

In the aftermath, you lie tangled together, breathless and sated, your hearts pounding in time with one another. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the feel of his warmth against your skin. He traces his fingers down your arm, a touch so gentle it feels like a whisper.

“I would stay with you forever, if the world allowed it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You press a kiss to his chest, closing your eyes as you savor the feel of him beside you. “We’ll hold on to this, for as long as we can,” you reply softly. “No matter what happens after tonight, this will be ours. No one can take it from us.”

The night stretches on, but the weight of reality begins to creep back in. You know this can’t last, that dawn will bring with it all the complications of duty, honor, and the dangers that linger beyond these walls. But for now, wrapped in Arthur’s arms, you allow yourself to forget all of that and simply live in this moment—this rare, fleeting moment of stolen bliss.

Outside the door, the world continues its relentless march forward, but in here, time has stopped.

The door closes with a soft click as Arthur steps out into the dimly lit corridor, leaving the warmth of your chambers behind. The cool air of the Red Keep wraps around him like a shroud, dragging him back into the reality he’d forgotten, if only for a few stolen hours. His breathing is still unsteady, his mind caught between the echo of your touch and the ironclad duty that now presses against him like a vice.

Ser Barristan Selmy stands just a few paces away, as stoic as ever, his white cloak still and pristine in the faint torchlight. The older knight’s eyes flicker briefly to Arthur, assessing, but there’s no judgment there—only understanding, a silent acknowledgment of what has passed.

“You’ve stayed longer than I expected,” Barristan says quietly, his voice carrying no hint of reproach, only a simple statement of fact. He steps closer, his expression a mix of resolve and sympathy. “I hope it was worth the risks.”

Arthur swallows, finding it difficult to summon words after everything that has transpired. The remnants of emotion still cling to him—longing, guilt, the ache of knowing that he must return to the rigid lines of his duty. “It was,” he replies, his voice rough with a mixture of exhaustion and conviction. “But it doesn’t change what we are sworn to do.”

“No,” Barristan agrees, his gaze steady. “It doesn’t. We are bound to our oaths, but that doesn’t mean we must be devoid of humanity.” He pauses, a slight softening in his expression. “What you did tonight, Arthur, was not an act of betrayal. It was an act of compassion—a rare thing in this place.”

Arthur nods, grateful for the older knight’s understanding. “Still, I fear what may come of it. The Spider watches from the shadows, and the King’s paranoia is ever-growing. If word of this reached his ears—”

“It won’t,” Barristan interrupts firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “I’ll see to that. We both know the risks, but we also know what she means to you—and what you mean to her.”

There’s a pause, heavy with the weight of shared knowledge. Arthur knows that Barristan isn’t just speaking as a fellow knight, but as a man who’s seen too many lives ruined by the cruel machinations of the court. Perhaps that’s why Barristan gave him this brief window of time—to allow him something that might never be allowed again.

“I’ll take over here,” Barristan continues, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’ve done enough for one night. I’ll ensure she’s safe.”

Arthur opens his mouth to argue, to insist on staying by your door as he always has, but Barristan cuts him off with a raised hand. “You need rest, Ser Arthur. You’ve carried more than your share of burdens. Go now, before the dawn comes. Clear your mind.”

For a moment, Arthur hesitates, torn between the instinct to stay near you and the reality that his own inner turmoil needs time to settle. Barristan’s gaze is firm, the kind that speaks of years of wisdom and experience. In it, Arthur sees a quiet reassurance—the knowledge that your safety, for this night at least, is in trusted hands.

Finally, Arthur nods, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thank you, Ser Barristan,” he says, the words laced with genuine gratitude. “For understanding.”

Barristan inclines his head. “Go on now. I’ll see you at first light.”

Arthur takes one last look at the door that separates him from you, as though he’s memorizing every detail, before turning away and walking down the dim corridor. Each step feels heavier, dragging him back into the rigid role he must play—knight, protector, but no more than that. And yet, beneath the weight of his duty, there’s a quiet resolve growing within him, stronger now than ever.

As he moves farther away from your chambers, he whispers to himself words he cannot say aloud, promises he dares not utter in the open air: I will protect you, no matter what it costs me. I won’t let this night be the last of us.

When Arthur is finally out of sight, Barristan remains by the door, his expression hardening into a steely mask. He knows what must be done, knows that tonight’s brief lapse in duty was a risk, but he also knows that for people like you and Arthur, such moments are the only refuge you’ll ever find. In this pit of vipers, compassion is a rare weapon.

Barristan draws his sword just enough to feel its reassuring weight before sliding it back into its sheath. He positions himself firmly by the door, his posture unyielding.

Anyone who might come near—whether servant, spy, or shadow—would find no easy entrance tonight. He would see to that.

The night stretches on, and as the first tendrils of dawn begin to creep through the narrow windows of the Red Keep, Barristan’s resolve solidifies. Whatever trials lie ahead, whatever darkness waits in the days to come, he knows one thing with certainty: he will stand guard here, not just out of duty, but out of a fierce determination to protect something fragile and rare in this world—a connection forged not in power or ambition, but in something far deeper.

For now, the corridors are quiet, and the weight of the world rests on Barristan’s shoulders alone. As the morning light begins to cast long shadows down the hall, he remains vigilant, his eyes sharp and his stance unwavering. There are few allies in this place, but for tonight, there is one more who stands between you and the dangers lurking just beyond the door.

The great hall is awash in flickering candlelight as servants move briskly between tables, offering plates of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fruits glazed with honey. The scent of rich foods mingles with the dampness of stone, a constant reminder of the Red Keep’s shadowed, ancient halls. King Aerys II sits at the head of the table, his gaunt figure draped in extravagant robes, the crown of sharp, twisting steel glinting on his brow. Beside him, Rhaegar sits with a composed air, the prince’s expression calm despite the underlying tension that hums in the room.

Standing behind them, silent and vigilant, are Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Gerold Hightower, their white cloaks stark against the gloom. The Sword of the Morning keeps his gaze trained forward, a mask of cool resolve firmly in place. But beneath that practiced exterior, unease coils in his gut. He knows better than to trust the rare moments when Aerys seems almost lucid, for they are often the prelude to something far darker.

Dinner passes in relative silence at first, save for the clinking of cutlery and the occasional murmured words between lords seated at the distant ends of the table. Aerys, however, remains fixated on his son, his eyes glittering with a manic edge. The King has grown more erratic in recent years, the grip of paranoia tightening its claws around his mind, but tonight there is a sharpness to him—a deliberate cruelty that seeps into the air like poison.

“My dear Rhaegar,” Aerys croons, his voice dripping with false affection as he dabs at the corners of his mouth with a silk cloth. “You’ve always been the good son, haven’t you? Always so… composed. Yet, I wonder, do you keep such composure even in matters of the heart?”

Rhaegar meets his father’s gaze with the practiced calm of someone who has weathered countless unpredictable storms. “I seek to serve the realm, Father, in all things,” he replies evenly, though Arthur notices the subtle tightening of the prince’s grip on his goblet.

Aerys chuckles, a sound like rusted metal scraping against stone. “Yes, yes, always the realm. But what of family, hmm? What of your sister?” His voice drops, taking on a conspiratorial tone, though it carries across the hall with chilling clarity. “Y/N, so delicate, so precious. A jewel I keep locked away from prying eyes.”

Arthur’s heart skips a beat, but he forces his expression to remain impassive, even as a chill runs down his spine. Aerys’ words are laced with something vile, a twisted obsession that’s grown more apparent with time. He knows the King’s madness festers around those he believes are his to control, and his daughter has become a particular fixation.

Rhaegar’s eyes darken, though he keeps his tone polite. “My sister is as devoted to our family as I am, Your Grace. Her loyalty is unquestionable.”

Aerys sneers, his smile twisting into something ugly. “Loyalty? Oh, I do not doubt her loyalty. She knows her place, after all. But I wonder, Rhaegar, is that enough for you? Is her… loyalty enough to bind her to our House as tightly as it should be?”

The prince doesn’t flinch, but the tension in his posture speaks volumes. “What are you suggesting, Father?”

Aerys leans back in his chair, tapping a finger against the armrest as if considering some hidden amusement. “She is of age now, and a Targaryen of purest blood. Shouldn’t her future be ensured with the right match? Someone who understands our bloodline, our legacy—someone who can keep her in line, if need be.”

Arthur’s fingers tighten around the hilt of Dawn, his knuckles whitening beneath his gloves. He can feel the weight of Ser Gerold’s gaze on him, a subtle warning that he cannot allow himself to react. It takes every ounce of discipline to remain composed, to bury the surge of anger and fear that rises within him. He knows too well what the King might consider as a “suitable match”—someone who would reduce you to a tool, a possession to be used and controlled.

Ser Gerold shifts slightly beside him, catching Arthur’s eye. His expression is stern, a silent command that needs no words: Hold your composure. Do not betray yourself.

Rhaegar’s voice cuts through the tension, cold and measured. “You speak of her future, Father, yet she has always served our family well. Surely her well-being should come before any considerations of… arrangement.”

Aerys’ laughter is sharp and sudden, making several of the lords at the table flinch. “Well-being? She is a Targaryen, Rhaegar. Well-being is a luxury we cannot afford! The blood of dragons flows in her veins, and it must be preserved—strengthened. Perhaps a union is exactly what she needs, to remind her of her place. Don’t you agree?”

Arthur’s heart thunders in his chest, but he dares not move, not even as his grip on his sword hilt threatens to snap the leather beneath his hand. Ser Gerold’s warning glance sharpens, and with great effort, Arthur forces himself to relax his hold, exhaling slowly to regain control.

Rhaegar’s expression remains unreadable, but his voice carries an edge when he speaks. “You are right, Father. The blood of dragons must be preserved. But that decision should be made with care, not haste. Y/N is a valuable asset to our House, and any match must serve our family’s interests above all else.”

Aerys stares at Rhaegar for a long, tense moment, as if searching for some hidden defiance. But when he speaks again, his voice is a dangerous whisper. “You would do well to remember that I am the one who decides what is best for this family. Your sister’s fate is mine to command, just as yours is. Do not think to challenge me on this, my son.”

Rhaegar lowers his gaze, an acknowledgment of the dangerous ground they tread. “Of course, Your Grace. I would never dream of questioning your judgment.”

The King watches him for a moment longer before a twisted smile spreads across his face. “Good. Very good.” He turns his attention back to the food before him, the conversation seemingly forgotten, but the tension remains thick in the air.

Arthur feels Ser Gerold’s subtle nudge—a reminder to stay focused, to not let his emotions betray him. He nods slightly, regaining his calm exterior, but inside, a fire burns, threatening to consume him. The thought of Aerys dictating your fate, of you being handed over to some vile lord who would see you as nothing more than a tool, fills him with a rage he’s never known. He wants nothing more than to protect you, to keep you from the clutches of a madman’s whims, but he knows how precarious his position is. One misstep could ruin everything.

As the dinner drags on, Ser Gerold shoots him one last, pointed look—a reminder that their duty is to the King, no matter the horrors they must witness or endure. Arthur clenches his jaw, burying his emotions deep within. He has no choice but to play his role, even as the weight of it threatens to break him.

But one thing is certain: the king’s words have only steeled his resolve. Whatever it takes, he will protect you—from Aerys, from the court, from anyone who dares to harm you. Even if it means risking everything he holds dear.

As the dinner finally draws to a close, Arthur and Ser Gerold move to escort the King back to his chambers, their white cloaks trailing behind them. The hall falls silent, but the echoes of Aerys’ twisted words linger in Arthur’s mind, a grim reminder of the battle yet to come.

And as he steps into the shadows once more, Arthur vows silently to himself: No one will decide her fate but her.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #arthur dayne x y/n #arthur dayne x reader #arthur dayne #aerys ii targaryen #rhaegar targaryen

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stlkrrbf · 1 year ago

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I’ll Crawl Home to Her {Rhysand x fem!reader} 18+

After merely stalking the darkened woods near the wall, Rhysand finds himself utterly and irrevocably falling for an untamed beast— a Grimm.

Note: This takes place in the same time of ACOTAR during Feryes life in spring court and is told in the readers pov. It is also heavily influenced by “Work song” by Hozier. This story will be separated into three parts. I would love to hear your feedback!

For two months, I dwell and stalked the unknown thicket of Pryrthian, keeping my shape as protection and comfort. A beast, they would say. They would whisper to each other as they passed the border of villages and the consuming darkness, telling stories to their babes about a demon wolf kidnapping and swallowing young fae. An Old wives tale.

I took the form of a Grimm. A overly large wolf with midnight fur painted from the darkest pits of the mountain. It’s who I was. The blood that ran through my veins and ateries, thickened with dark magic, can be traced to the beginning of this world. To the cauldron.

I used to hate this form. But considering my situation and the blood soaked terror that swept across the land, it was safer for my family and I to remain hidden. Being a high fae with unknowing powers to society was dangerous.

Especially in these parts.

I prowled the dark trees, snow crunching beneath the enormous paws that I’ve grown accustomed to. Narrowing my line of sight as I kept my guard up. Something, someone, was watching.

I whipped my head around, releasing a low growl to anything near, baring a row of Snow White jaws as a warning. A cloud of black, shimmery mist flooded the area around me, stinging my sensitive nose. A figure appeared beneath it. Bat like wings that shone in the moonlight spread out behind. A man- no- a high fae; A high lord; with blue black hair and a look of curiosity spread across his golden skin. It was intoxicating.

“Hello, you.” He purred, keeping his hands in the pockets of his black, silk pants.

He cocked his head to the side, flashing a soft, inviting smile. He was handsome, breathtaking. It was so long since I had seen someone who was the same as me. An icy hand slid against my spine, making me tuck my tail between my legs and back up slowly.

He inched forward as I moved, wanting to know more. “You’re.. interesting.” He began, “I knew something roamed these woods. But a high fae? Interesting..”

How.. how did he know?

Claws burned into my thoughts as I yelped in pain. They invaded every thought and memory I saved locked up and untouched. They tore at my mind. Finding a way to make me, force me, to change to my normal state. I fought the urge, pushing him out with all my might. The more I resisted, the more the pain grew. It shocked every nerve within my body.

“Don’t fight it.” He cooed, kneeling before me.

Before I could throw myself at him, I was engulfed in pain and darkness. The high fae disappeared as I blacked out at the stimulation.

ཐི♡⃟͚̊ཋྀ

I woke up amidst a midnight blue chamber. A bedroom. It was bigger than my eyes could focus on. Antique dark furniture lined the blue walls around me. The bed I laid in was big enough for at least five faeries. The black silk sheets engulfed my naked, cold body; and a large, iridescent mirror was plastered to the ceiling above. I saw myself.

I stared at my reflection. It has been months since i remembered what I looked like. My skin was glowing, shimmering in the dawn light. My h/c hair, outgrown and covering my bare breasts was softer than I imagined. And my eyes, those e/c orbs that was the only barrier between my true self and the beast before me, hard and tired. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I vaguely remember what happened before I blacked out. But the thought of how I even managed to find a place like this roamed my mind. If only I could-

“You’re awake.”

I whipped my head to the side. A familiar voice. A voice I remember. The same male from the night before leaned against the door frame, the black mist fading away from him. “It was about time too. I figured I went too far.”

“Where am i?” I asked sternly, my voice hoarse. “I demand you to tell me.” I pulled the black sheets up to my chest, shielding me.

“You demand me? Not a ‘good morning’ or a greeting?” He chuckled. He moved to the foot of the bed, and I pushed myself back against the headboard. I stared him down, waiting for an answer.

“You’re in my house,” he began. “My room.” He ran his hand through his black hair, letting it fall to the side. “It’s been centuries since I saw your family last. I assumed your kind died out as Amarantha invaded these lands. But here you are..”

“Why did you bring me here?” I growled. Prick.

He walked towards the wardrobe that sat at the right corner of the room. The doors groaned as he opened them. His back turned to me, I shifted my way of off the bed, still clutching the sheet to keep me modest. I backed up against the wall.

“It is normal for a high fae to shift into whatever their magic forms them into.” He fumbled between a few outfits, biting his lip as he studied the fabrics. “But the Grimm is rare. A Grimm with black magic coursing through their lineage. It’s dangerous for you to be out there alone.”

He turned back to me. That same, feline smile spread across his full lips. He placed an outfit on the bed. “Get yourself cleaned up and meet me in the dining room. I’ll be waiting.”

ཐི♡⃟͚̊ཋྀ

After bathing the months of the forest off of my body, I dressed myself in the outfit he picked for me. It was a sky blue top that rode against my mid drift, and cream colored trousers that melted to my curves. The shoes were satin and lined with the finest cotton on the inside. I brushed out my wet hair and pinned it into a low bun, allowing a few strands to fall instinctively.

As I hesitantly finished dressing myself, a tether pulled me from my core, coaxing me the way down the dark corridors of the unfamiliar manor. It ignited a flame inside me, a personal feeling I once felt before.

I slipped out of the bedroom, following the invisible string and gulping at the thought of who I’d meet at the end of it. When I reached the Crystal dining room, there he was. Sitting in a chair at the end of the table, his back towards the large window that spread out against the mountains. He placed his lips against the rim of his goblet, eyeing me as he sipped on his drink.

“You look ravishingly delicious.” He muttered. I furrowed my brow.

“Who are you?”

He placed his cup in front of him, shifting in his chair gesturing me over. “Sit.” He demanded.

I gulped, slowly walking over to an empty chair across from him. I gripped the arms of the chair, digging my nails into the dark wood. We stared at each other in silence, a look of amusement crept onto that annoying smile of his. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“Eat something. You must be hungry.”

“Not until you tell me why. Why you invaded my mind and brought me here.” I snarled. “Who. Are. You?”

The legs of his chair scrapped against the stone floor as it moved behind him. The male appeared beside me before I could blink. Placing his thumb against my chin, he leaned down, his violet eyes bonding with mine.

“The names Rhysand.” Rhys purred. “And you’ll be my guest until I grow bored of you, y/n darling.”

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand #rhys x reader #rhys acotar #18+ minors dni

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dangermousie · 3 months ago

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Wannabe shizunfucker, sub marquis - you are back on my screen!!!!!

Honestly, I loved the actor a LOT in AJTL - he had the intensity a lot of actors lack and not cookiecutter looks, so hope this drama is good and he has a good career.

Btw, if you want to know why he is sub marquis (and wannabe shizunfucker) in my heart:

I mean...

To sum up:

Debatable.

#cdrama #dawn amidst hidden clouds #a journey to love #chang huasen

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yamazakura-shinden · 4 months ago

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Violet flames scorch the once-usually quiet woods of the Land of Fire. A boy stands amidst the chaos, heaving and desperately trying to catch his breath. He leans against a lone tree in the embers. The boy's- Osuke- pale skin is littered with bruises and scratches from head to toe. His cherry blossom pink hair is matted and messy. Long and soft locks ruffled in all directions.

"How did it come to this?" Osuke bitterly asks himself. The soul-crushing guilt clouds his judgment. His gloved hands tremble in fear. The pink-haired boy loses control over his chakra-enhanced strength snapping the tree in half with a single curl of his fingers.

Before Osuke can calm himself down, the clearing just a few yards away erupts in a giant mass of light, stunning him in the process. The mass destruction before his eyes is none other than the works of a Bijuu Bomb- something only tailed beasts can create. "No." Realization dawns upon the pinkette. Be wastes no time to dash in the opposite direction and pushes himself to run as fast as possible.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO!" Osuke chants to himself as he begins to feel even more distressed by the second. His breath is uneven and shallow, the stinging from his wounds sharpens, but he cannot stop running. He needs to get back to his friends- Suisen and Suzume. The former is badly injured and unconscious with only Suzume there to keep him away from the clutches of The Hidden Leaf Village, also known as Konoha.

Osuke maneuvers through the burning forest and swiftly jumps from one tree branch to the next while carefully avoiding the purple flames. His mind is only filled with images of his struggling friends, too preoccupied with them to notice the terrifying beast looming over his petite form. The beast is nothing, but a shapeless shadowy mass with a pair of lifeless white eyes. Despite being at least 20 times the size of its unassuming prey, its form is still incomplete and is a mere fragment of the Zero Tails.

A cold and disturbing chakra takes over Osuke's senses. The chakra is enormous and overwhelming enough to force the pink-haired teen to stop dead in his tracks. His battered and worn out body tenses and he slowly turns around to meet the animalistic gaze of his hunter. Before Osuke can get a better look at the shadowy creature, he's suddenly thrown into the chaos.

The ground splits open, and trees and massive chunks of the terrain fly across the scene. White hot pain swiftly spreads throughout the rogue ninja's body. The agony is an understatement to the pain he feels after the beast cleaves more than half of his left arm, leaving a small chunk of his upper arm intact, and splits his abdomen open.

...

"That was quite painful, wasn't it?"

There it was again. That obnoxious voice in his head.

"Although.. I'm quite curious about what happened next." The voice made its presence known seven or so months ago. At first, Osuke was startled and thought he'd gone mad after that terrible night almost 2 years ago from today.

"Well, well, well! Aren't you being uncharacteristically chatty and nosey today?" He sassily remarked, already used to the voice in his head. They had a strangely comforting and calm tone, but also baritone and weary.

"Seeing that I'm all alone in this dark place with so little to do to entertain myself, it's only natural to make use of what little I have."

The mysterious voice tried to reason, but he didn't buy it all.

"This is the fourth time you tried to pry into my memories!"

"And I failed every single time thanks to your freakish inner self!"

Another useless attempt to defend themselves regardless of whether they were in the wrong or not.

"It is as if he's your guard dog to your subconscious."

They crudely commented.

"WHY YOU LITTLE-"

His inner self chimed in as if he heard the half-hearted insult thrown by the disembodied voice.

"HOW DARE YOU COMPARE ME TO A DOG?!"

Inner roared in fury.

"There he goes again barking like a feral beast.."

They sighed tiredly. Something which Osuke's father did quite often at his childish antics from a time that was just a distant and bittersweet memory for him.

“AGH GET OVER HERE YOU SLY, OLD FOSSIL!”

The pink-haired young man's inner self cracked his gloved knuckles.

"Wait! Keep your hands off of me, you brat!"

“CHAAAA!”

Osuke grimaced. While those two were getting into petty fights, he tried to concentrate on concealing his chakra signature. He didn't want to be caught in a place heavily guarded by Hidden Leaf ninja. The rouge ninja meant to contact Orochimaru, but the only way to do that was to personally visit him.

It has been proven to be confusing and arduous to navigate in Orochimaru's hideout. The corridors were long, seemingly endless, their walls were adorned by serpentine patterns. The dim lighting illuminated by the few torches scattered around didn't help much. The interior was unironically befitting of the Snake Sannin.

"How the hell can Orochimaru work in such poor lighting?" Osuke wondered while he blindly sneaked into the darkness of the underground lair.

His silent musings were interrupted by a foreign chakra signature emanating down the dim hallway. The signature belonged to a Leaf Jonin patrolling the area. The young man unsheathed his tanto knife from its simple yet elegant sheathe attached to his thigh. The blade had a deep crimson color and the type of the hamon was kaen. Osuke planned on incapacitating the jonin quietly from behind. All he needed to do was plunge the glinting blade deep into his jugular and hide the body.

"Wait! Don't kill the guard. You might raise suspicion which will make it harder for you to come back here."

Osuke's disembodied companion interjected before he could act on his malicious intentions.

"Then what do you propose to do instead? I doubt you have any better ideas."

"As a matter of fact, I do."

...

Meanwhile, a certain sannin tirelessly worked on making a breakthrough with an unknown substance that was brought to him recently. Orochimaru's golden eyes narrowed at the petri dish infront of him. Despite all the acids and bases along with the most powerful catalysts he has thrown at it, the contents inside remained all the same. In other words: no reaction whatsoever. Orochimaru had never come across any element incapable of reacting. The only acid didn't use yet was Fluoroantimonic acid, also known as the deadliest acid in the world.

The snake sannin's gaze lingered on the small glimmering chunks in the petri dish. They resembled familiar and commonly used elements yet also had an otherworldly appearance. As if they came from the distant stars themselves.

Suddenly, the sharp blade of a tanto was pressed against his throat. The cold steal against his jugular was held by Osuke Uchiha himself. Orochimaru easily recognized his chakra due to meeting many members of the Uchiha clan in the past. No matter how unique and distinguished their signatures were, they always shared one common characteristic- an inextinguishable flame that continued to burn even after death.

"You have some nerve to sneak up on me like that."

Orochimaru chided. He was unamused by the pink-haired Uchiha's audacity. He tightened his grip on his weapon. Osuke glared at him in silence letting the older man speak freely.

"I suppose you have some reason to come here- a place full of elite jonin who are being supervised by Captain Yamato directly."

From what was taught to Osuke during his days in the Academy, Captain Yamato was a seasoned ANBU captain and war veteran. He was described as a formidable opponent by his past jonin instructor when he was a genin.

"There's no way you could've gone this far without alerting anyone."

The snake sannin was curious about the lack of ninjas rushing in to apprehend Osuke for trespassing.

"Either way, how did you get in here?"

Osuke just ominously grinned.

"Well... I have my ways."

"I DID ALL THE HEAVY LIFTING, CHAAA!"

The "ways" yelled at his counterpart in the real world. His irritation with Osuke was more than obvious.

An awkward silence impregnated the tense atmosphere of the lab. That made the pinkette scoff indignantly and begrudgingly put away the tanto.

"I'll tell you why I came here to speak with you."

Osuke paused to collect his thoughts as he sheathed his weapon before continuing.

"You have some information I need.'

"Oh?" The sannin was intrigued. What could someone like him want to know from him? He'd seen Osuke a few times when the young Uchiha was still a child. The weak little boy with no self-esteem was a far cry from the daring rogue ninja before him.

"What information are you talking about?"

"I need Hashirama cells and the S-Rank jutsu Edo Tensei."

Orochimaru abruptly burst out in uncontrollable laughter. His cackles rang throughout the lab.

"So you came here, waltzed up to me like you own this hideout, and now you demand from me something you can only dream of?"

The snake sannin ridiculed Osuke in between fits.

"Do you hear even yourself, boy?"

The young man could barely hold back his rage and embarrassment.

"Hear me out, will ya?!"

He yelled at the older man who has cackled and mocked him for five minutes straight.

"I would be a fool to expect you to want nothing in return."

Osuke "calmly" stated after taking a deep breath and putting on a stern face.

"Therefore, I shall assist you with your research on your most recent project."

Orochimaru rubbed his chin while contemplating the young man's words.

"I made a few breakthroughs on my own and am willing to share them in exchange for the information I'm seeking."

Then he added to sweeten the deal. He knew that the snake sannin was frustrated with his lack of progress in his research. It was obvious due to the messy and aggressively written notes scattered across the desk. He watched Orochimaru's thoughtful and reluctant expression morph into a pleased grin, his sharp fangs peeking out the corners of his lips.

"Very well then. I accept your proposal, Uchiha Osuke. I look forward to working with you~"

To be continued…

#anime #anime fanfic #manga fanfic #naruto fanfiction #naruto #naruto shippuden #fanfiction #naruto oc #orochimaru #uchiha clan #sasusaku #yamazakura

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