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ghouljams · 3 months ago

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And I Can Only Think of You (Act II End)

Words: 5.3k Tags: Knight!Ghost x Princess!reader, Keegan x f!oc, knight fights, tournament violence, blood, love confessions(sort of), shitty dads, König being a creepy weirdo, major character injury, no beta we die like [redacted] Summary: Your stage has been set, the player take their places, and suddenly decide to improvise.

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The flags are raised first. Tents follow. Then the knights and their squires, then the arena and brown dirt that will so quickly become darkened with blood. You watch the set up from the castle, content to think through your plans as fences are raised and benches are built. Your mind is made up, wheels in motion, and players taking their places. You have every confidence in Ghost.

Perhaps you should have that same confidence in yourself, but… one step at a time. It’s hard to turn around a lifetime of conditioning. You have to remind yourself of your convictions, remind yourself that you’re worth the same confidence you offer your knight. Yet, too often you find yourself hoping this is a terrible dream that Ghost will wake you up from, and you’ll find yourself back in the forest with him.

Suddenly bandits and assassins seem so much easier to deal with. “The enemies you know” as the saying goes.

You’ll find your confidence when this is all over, when you have proof of your abilities. Until then you have your embroidery.

It shouldn’t surprise you that your Ghost is popular. He’s at least a head taller than most of the other knights, standing proudly and directing his subordinates in that lovely deep voice, of course there’d be women that admired him. You don’t know why there needs to be so damn many of them though, especially this early in the morning. Your heart clenches so tightly in your chest you think it might have stopped. You wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake, a mistake of the heart that you don't know how to recover from. Until he spots you and his dark eyes lighten with a flash of warmth that may as well melt you.

You feel so suddenly like yourself, like that damsel he’s always been so dutiful in his protection of. A princess running from her father’s attempt at a marriage arrangement and leaving her slippers with a stranger. Even with that dark cloth over his mouth you know Ghost’s smile by the crinkle of his eyes. You clutch your token close to your chest, something you should have given to Ghost when he'd been taken off your detail. You’d thought he’d be wearing your colors at least, but the cool flash of his armor holds no green besides the reflection of grass under his feet. You tip your head to look up at him, letting his dark eyes hold your gaze until he reaches to smooth his thumb between your brows.

“What are you frowning about now?” He asks, the low rumble of his voice warm and teasing. The leather of his glove under the cool steal of his armor only makes you pout more. He’s always touched you so easily, too easily if the rumors around you two are to be believed, but it’s never warmed your skin like this. Your fingers dig into the token you’d fashioned, nearly crushing the embroidery under the weight of your nerves.

“I’m merely anxious for the tournament.” You tell him, and earn a crease of his eyes, an amused hum.

“Have I ever disobeyed an order from you, my lady?” Ghost asks, his fingers slipping from your forehead to trace your jaw.

“Of course not.” You frown. You feel strangely… scolded.

“Then trust me,” He tilts his head, “You told me to win, and I intend to.”

The cold determination in his eyes washes over you like a chill. You’ve seen those eyes too many times, caught the fury in them as his sword splattered blood over his helm. It’s the same look he’s held every time he’s saved you from certain doom, and you want nothing more than to give into it, to let him save you once more. What once held your hopes now feels burdensome in your hand. You wish-

No, no more wishing. You made a promise to yourself. You're not going to be that scared little princess anymore. You're not going to wait on someone to save you. You're in charge of your own destiny, and if you want something you have to take it for yourself.

“You’re not wearing my crest,” You change the subject, leaning to inspect his cape, or lack thereof. Ghost huffs.

“Never would’ve made it out of the barracks if I ‘ad.” Your father’s doing you’re sure. Anything to keep Ghost separated from you, unburdened by responsibilities to the throne. Despite his new position as captain of the knights he doesn’t wear the royal crest. Disavowed, abandoned by the throne he serves. Ripe for a new king to swoop in and claim him.

“Well,” You nod, reassuring yourself, “it’s a good thing I came around then.” Another satisfied hum from Ghost, approving. It leaves your cheeks burning. You hold up the deep green fabric clutched between your fingers, the long strip embroidered carefully with the curling ivy and white dahlias that make up your personal crest.

“Just in the nick of time,” Ghost makes no move to take it, “was worried one of the other ladies would tuck theirs in my belt first.” It’s a joke, but it stalls in your brain. His hand drops to his side, fingers tugging at the leather belt looped around his middle. Making room for you to slide the banner in.

“Oh,” You stall, beg yourself not to stutter, without finding a single word to stutter on. You glance around at the other knights, house banners and lovers’ tokens hang off their belts. It makes sense, capes would get in the way of combat, but something simple like a flag on their belt…

You glance up at Ghost, feel his stare like a two ton weight. He’s teasing you, you’re sure. The same dry humor that made you throw sticks at him when you made camp. Horrible jokes.

You look down at his belt, watch his hand raise out of your view, feel his fingers pluck at the hair peeking out from under your circlet. Your own fingers go to his belt, calling his bluff as you thread your banner over the leather, and tug it into place. He leans to press his lips to the strand he’s pulled free, his shadow makes a chill run up your spine, and you feel the tug at your scalp as you shudder. You try to look busy making the banner lay flat, picking at the forest green until it’s perfectly draped over his belt, your crest on display for all to see.

Your fingers won’t pull away from him. You will them to, but there they stay.

“Thank you,” Ghost says, his voice a low murmur. You nod. His gloved finger traces over your cheek, tips your head up to meet his eyes. “Where did my confident lady go?” He teases you.

“Waiting for her father.” You mutter.

Ghost hums, his distaste clear in the tone. You fidget with the banner on his belt, enjoy the nervous flutter in your stomach as his fingers stroke your cheek. You don’t know how he does it, how he can be so steadfast. There’s never a moment where he’s wavered, never a time you’ve questioned his devotion to you. Ever since you met him, you’ve known that Ghost was here by his will alone and no one else’s.

Maybe that was why your father hated him. The one man in the kingdom who held no allegiance to the crown. Who never would have taken his commission if he hadn’t wanted to. Who told the monarchy “no” with as much mirth as he did conviction.

“I have to talk to the priest,” You tell him, hoping mention of your errands will help move you.

It doesn’t help to move Ghost. His hand stays as it was, the worn leather covering his knuckles skirting over your cheek with painful care.

“What do I get when I win?” Ghost asks.

When, you remind yourself, not if.

“Hopefully whatever you want,” His eyes crease at the edges, warm honey brown making your heart patter, “so start making a list.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You have to look away from him, your cheeks far too warm to allow for eye contact. It takes his hand from your cheek, gives you the strength to pull your hands from his belt. You can’t hang around him all day. Both of you have roles to play, proverbial swords to swing.

“Good luck my lady.” Ghost mumbles. The heat of his hands following you as you hurry back to your retinue.

Your lady-in-waiting smiles at you, takes her hand off your knight’s arm. You note that her family’s crest decorates his belt with, perhaps, too much interest. You’d noticed them growing closer, but not that close. Your knight covers the banner with his hand, and you force your eyes from it to smile at your maid.

"You have everything prepared?" You ask her. She nods.

"Of course m'lady." She twists to unhook the pouch she'd brought, producing a scroll for you.

You'd been worried after your letter to Ghost, that she might resent you. You've known your lady-in-waiting since you were a child, but knowing who you could trust was difficult when your father's grip on your life only seemed to tighten. Still, she'd been steadfast in her allegiance to you, and almost excited to help you in your scheming. You're sure you've been too clear in your affections for your knight, clear enough to risk her as well, it's nice knowing she's in your corner. Even if you hadn't thought she'd been there.

Maybe she weighed her options. Though you're not sure how you won if she did.

"Who's with my father?" You ask Keegan. He makes a face, his nose scrunching his mask in distaste.

"Graves."

"Perfect." You take the scroll from your lady-in-waiting and turn to find the announcer.

"I'm sure he'd be chuffed to hear that," Keegan tells you with an almost audible eye roll.

You're sure he would be. Just like you're sure Graves is doing his best to shove his entire head up your father's ass with how much he kisses the damn thing. That man has his eyes on knight captain, and you're sure your father has already let him know that the position will be open shortly.

Not if you have anything to do with it.

You spot the bored looking priest that's been assigned to announce the contest. Impartial in that he seems uninterested in all of it. You couldn't think of a better puppet than one who seems so keen on staying out of the actual event. Who better than someone who won't question changes because they simply do not care?

"Priest," You wave him down, dissatisfied with the placid smile he turns your way as you walk towards him.

"Princess," He greets.

"My father asked me to deliver this," You hold the scroll out to him, he nods once, a slow and steady bowing of his head. You detest it. Your fathers name carries God's weight. "König had some changes he wanted made to the prize." You smile. An explanation that's unasked for, short and sweet for a man that cares only enough not to crush the paper in his hand.

"Of course." The priest agrees. Inept, you think. There's no chance the man checks your switch, even less that he checks with your father about it. You won't be sad to see him go when your father decides to behead him after the tournament.

You nod, the priest bows, you part ways. You count yourself lucky that his ineptitude extends to his desire to pray for you.

Your lady-in-waiting sticks close to your side as you make your way to the sheltered seats reserved for your family. Another point of luck that you're sitting beside your mother. You father is too busy with his attempts to impress König to notice you settling in your chair, though you do see König's eyes flick to greet you. Mad dog he may be, at least he keeps track of his surroundings.

Your stomach ties itself into knots as your parents are plied with wine. You decline your own glass, too nervous to entertain even thoughts of alcohol. You may throw up. Your confidence, or lack thereof, in the priest is waning the longer you wait. Maybe he's peaked at your alterations. Maybe he'll send a page to alert your father. Maybe you'll be locked in your room for good to prevent any further scheming before you're sold to the highest bidder.

The priest takes his place, carried by long divinely purposeful strides, in the center of the arena. If nothing else, at least he's loud.

You tune out most of the drivel he spews. Artfully copied word for word by your lady-in-waiting from the real scroll, you really should ask where she learned such forgery, it's all praises for the king, the day, your god on high. Worthless. Less than worthless. At least the paper holds value, the ink, the time taken, but the words themselves? God. Get to the important part.

"The prize-" The priest screeches, "-which shall be allotted in full to the victor alone, announced to the people by their gracious and loving king, heretofore and forever regarded as the divinely appointed ruler of the land, shall be His Majesty's only daughter's hand in-" The priest stalls, stutters, stares at the parchment and finishes weakly, "-in marriage."

There's silence.

Then chaos.

The knights in their pen turn to you with such pinpoint precision you'd think they'd practiced the movement. You keep your eyes on the priest. Of all the eyes on you, you feel your father's the heaviest. He nails you in place, unable to speak a word over the raucous excitement of the crowd. The crown princess, finally to be married, and to a knight- no, the best night in the land, no less. It's like a fairy tale.

If you can survive it.

Your eyes dart to the pen, to the stoic figure of your knight, his eyes fixed on the priest as well. His hand is clenched tight around the hilt of his sword. Even with all the excitement he stands like a statue, his gaze level. If you didn't know him better you might mistake his stillness for calmness. He's thinking, calculating, weighing his odds. You told him to win, he'd already known what he had to do, but this- this changes things. Chaos is harder to account for.

He turns your way, his eyes dark when they lock onto yours. He gives you a short nod, and you feel the weight of it settle in your chest. Ghost turns back to the arena and disappears behind the helm he presses over his head.

You haven't seen it in ages. Burnished steel, the white pattern of a scull pained over the front, and his eyes flashing cold in the shadows. He cuts a fitting picture, your father's nightmare given human form. He has no one to root for now.

You turn your attention back to your family. Your mother hides her shock behind a facade of calm, her eyes fixed on her people with a placid smile. You never had a chance to truly ask her- no matter. Your father hides his contempt well. Practiced at it, you suppose. König has his cheek resting against his hand, his lips curled over his teeth in an approximation of a smile. You've seen monkeys in caravans make that expression, baring their teeth the way their human handler has taught them. Some part of you feels glad to have earned some semblance of his approval, as detestable a man as he may be. At least someone is having fun.

You wonder what human taught him to approximate a smile. You can't imagine his kingdom has many saints, but his handler must be one of them.

You'll try to enjoy yourself as well. After all, you're soon to be betrothed to your knight. You can't think of a better man to hand your future to. Ghost has never let you down, and you can't see him starting now.

That's how the first match goes.

Your knight swings his sword with such practiced precision that it sends his opponent's flying from his grip barely moments into the fight.

Not to be outdone the rival knight lunges for him, and you taste bitterness on your tongue when Ghost brings his sword down hard on his rival's helm. The poor fool is crushed, sent sprawling flat on the ground with the imprint of Ghost's hilt decorating the back of his helm. The cheers are as violent as the match-up as Ghost raises his fist to the crowd, his sword hung lazy at his side. You can almost feel the smug air radiating off of him. Similarly, you can feel your father's ire poisoning the air around you.

You care little for the other matches. Tournaments are only fun when you have someone to root for after all, and when it's your life hanging in the balance you find yourself looking away from the lecherous gazes of the other challenging knights. You can't find it in yourself to feign an interest in their matches.

If your mother is to believed you shouldn't have to.

Rumors of your attachment to Ghost are the very reason he was taken away from you. You're sure the other knights know all too well who you're rooting for. If it weren't clear from the banner on his belt, surely they'd know it from the gossip that floods the castle. It's only their own greed and lust for your crown that gives them any hope at all for taking your hand at the end of the day.

One thing is for sure. You've never seen a tournament so bloody.

The knights fight like rabid dogs. If they cannot disarm their opponent they will attempt to kill him, searching for the breaks in their armor and beating their sword into the bends. Men beat each other with their fists, they batter each other with maces, they claw for every scrape they can achieve until the priest yells for them to stop.

You watch Keegan dodge a particularly deadly blow from a larger knight, his eyes wild with bloodlust. It makes your skin crawl to think such a man might ever force his way into your bed. Your only saving grace is watching your knight swing his sword, twisting with the grace of a dancer to hold his blade against his opponent's throat.

You suppose it's good that Keegan has no dreams of the monarchy, content as he is to pull your lady-in-waiting's banner from his belt and press it to his helm. He could give your Ghost a run for his money.

One of the servants offers you lunch partway through. You bundle bread and sweet meat into your handkerchief, and pass it off to your lady-in-waiting to take to Ghost. You're sure he's resigned himself to hunger, and you'd rather he keep himself in fighting shape.

You smile when you catch your father's eye.

There is something pleasant about going against the man. Not pleasant enough to go so far as killing him, despite König's suggestion, but satisfying nonetheless. Your father has always seemed larger than life, untouchable in his judgement, but now you see him as exactly what he always has been: a man in a fancy hat. A man without half the strength that your Ghost has. A man that could crumble under the weight of a sword.

Your father has strength in his eyes, but straight backs can be broken as easily as hunched ones.

You hear the sickening crunch of yielding bones and catch the way Graves jerks and twists at his opponent's arm under the hollering jeers of onlookers. The man screams out in pain, and your father's knight releases him. Only to plant his foot against the knight's chest and kick him to the ground.

The priest calls the match, and Graves moseys to fetch his sword from where he threw it. He wears your father's --the monarchy's-- crest on his belt.

You look at your father, his smile proud beside your mother's wide eyed horror. He turns to look at you.

“A late entry,” the king tells you, “but quite impressive, don't you think?”

You don't think. Not on your life would you think your father's pick impressive. Not with the way he saunters towards your stand and leans against the banners. His blue eyes now black, swallowed by his pupils, look you up and down like a hog for slaughter.

“Y'know princess,” he smiles, “I always thought you were a pretty thing. Guess now I'll finally get to see you without the big guy staring me down.”

You shouldn't entertain that with a response. You keep your eyes firmly on the priest as he announces, silently, the next match. Your hearing rolls with the crashing of waves, the thrum of your blood circulating and rushing against your brain, trying to find purchase for some new brilliant plan. Trying to find reason against your faith in Ghost. You find nothing but your own affection.

“You will lose.” You assure Graves. He hums, his smile unwavering. Unnerving. He pushes away from the banner covered fence and pats the knight coming into the area on the shoulder.

You won't let him or your father's bastard-airs dissuade you. Ghost has fought twenty men and come out unscathed. He's rescued you from far worse than Graves could throw at him. Besides, the only good Graves has done in his life is give you someone to root against in the tournament.

And root against him you do. When you aren't cheering for your Ghost(and Keegan, bless him) you're cheering on whatever poor soul is stuck facing your father's pick.

With each rung the knights climb towards your hand the matches grow bloodier. Men seem less afraid to go against the rules of combat, more willing to darken the dirt with their opponent's blood. You watch Keegan take a nasty blow to the face before managing to disarm his opponent. When he flips the visor of his helm up you're treated to crimson staining his brow, flooding his eye such that he has to call for a cloth to clear it. Your Ghost too, seems to grow harsher, his goal --your goal-- closer with each victory he achieves.

He batters one opponent with his sword still sheathed, beating the other knight into submission with a singular focus that you so rarely see. Still, he seems to be the only one to avoid spilling unnecessary blood on the field. Your sword raised carefully against your subjects, rot excised with surgical precision.

Graves holds none of the same delicacy.

Yet he turns to be sure you're watching with each man he injures. His hand raised to you --to your father more accurately-- as if to more openly show off his ruthlessness. Even the mutt king seems impressed with him.

"Scheiße," König hums, his smile still biting into his fingers, "What is it you English call it?" He asks your father, "Cutting the same clothes?"

"Yes I was rather brash at that age too," Your father agrees, so smug, the bastard.

"Oh no," König's smile, now at least, seems to fill with joy, perhaps he can only do that when faced with someone else's misery, "It is my clothes he cuts from."

It's the first you've seen your father hesitate. His eyes draw to Graves' grin, his helmet tossed and his cheek wearing the blood of his victory. It drags a path over his teeth, and you know you'll see the pink tinge of his spit in your nightmares. It's as if this is the first he's seen his personal guard without the blinders of stopping your betrayal.

And what can your father say? That he hopes Graves isn't? That König is the last kind of king he'd ever want to hand his kingdom over to?

He glances at you.

That he'd want to hand you over to?

He is still your father after all. It's the first time in years you've seen the same concern he held for you as a little girl. The first time you think he's looked at you as something other than a tool for his own political gains. You wonder if he's wondering: Can he really hand his daughter over to a man like König?

To a late entry?

You look away from him, and to the man your father had so cruelly put forth to win you. Not because he thought you were a particularly good match. Not because he had a particular fondness for Graves. But because he hated Ghost. You wonder if his own petty resentment is good enough reason to hand you to a man with blood in his teeth.

All the more reason to cheer for your own men.

You pay little attention to the rest of the matches. You gossip with your lady-in-waiting and do your best to ignore the rest of the world. You only know when Keegan has taken the field again when your friend stops talking. She looks so worried you'd think he was facing the devil himself. Serves you right for ignoring the matches, you suppose. You must have missed the dark lord's summoning.

Turning to the field you do see the problem. He's up against Ghost. If this were any other tournament you might feel bad rooting against the poor fellow, but as it stands you can't find it in yourself to hope Keegan wins. You have neither the desire to marry him, nor the desire to take him from your friend.

It's probably best that he puts up a lackluster fight. His grip is loose when Ghost's sword swings, and much like the knight in the first round Keegan's sword goes flying.

The two men stand facing each other before Keegan lets out a long breath.

"Oh no!" He yells, "Not my sword! God not my sword!" He makes an exaggerated showing of shrugging, "Oh well, I suppose the match is yours."

You snort. It's good that he has his knighthood to fall back on, he certainly has no future in acting if that performance is to be believed. Still, your lady-in-waiting cheers loudly for him as he exits the field. You cheer as well, falling into your friend's laughter even through the nerves that grip your stomach.

You look at the tournament board and watch your crest move to the final round. The tree finally reaching its inevitable conclusion. Ghost is going to win just like you told him to.

Your eyes flick to the other side and land on the royal seal just as Graves is announced in his own semi-final round.

You know in your heart that he'll win with the same understanding that you know fire will burn you and the sea will swallow you whole if you let it. It is a fact that cruelty like his rarely goes punished.

You stand from your seat, you can't watch this match. No matter how short it may be, you can't watch. You can't see that man win again.

You go to find Ghost.

There's a page fussing over him when you make your way to the knight's rest area. You don't recognize them, but you don't spend much time at the training grounds. Ghost spots you immediately and waves off the boy to greet you.

"Go back to your seat," He advises, though there's no push behind his words.

"I wanted to congratulate you." You grin and see his shoulders lower slightly, softening beneath the armor.

"Thank me after, my lady," You can hear the smile in his voice even behind that horrible helm, "I'm only following orders."

"You're following them beautifully." You reach to fix the drape of your banner on his belt, and see him tilt his head in your periphery. His hand raises and he brushes the steel knuckle of his glove against your cheek. Soft despite the cold, unyielding material.

"The other knights think you've fixed the tournament." He mumbles.

"I have," You tip your head back to look at him, trying to find the warm copper of his eyes through the slits in his helm, "I put you in it."

The huff of breath Ghost lets out is as close to laughter as you'll get from him, but it warms you all the same. He turns his head away from you, surveying the field of defeated knights. All men he'll be commanding as king soon, men who must envy and revere him in equal measure. You're sure how it must look to them, but perhaps it's better they think they lost due to some predestination rather than their own inability.

"You should head back," He turns back to you, "No need to hear what your father's man has been saying about you."

Your stomach churns, "What's he saying?"

"Nothing he won't pay for." Again you can hear Ghost's smile, and it settles your nerves. You nod, gathering your strength around you.

"Then I'll be waiting for you," You assure him.

"You'll never have to wait again when this is over."

You push up onto your toes, and press your forehead against his. The bend of his back must be painful under the layers of steel, but you're sure he'd agree it's worth it for a small parting comfort before you turn to hurry to your seat.

You're only too happy to see the field bare when you make it back. Your lady-in-waiting is beaming in a way that makes you think perhaps she paid her own knight a visit.

Your father's crest has been moved to face your own. An inevitability, but one that you find your confidence bolstered on. You have Ghost's assurance, what else could matter?

König leans forward in his seat, his eyes sparking with excitement next to your father. There's a tightness on your father's lips, nerves in his eyes. You've never known him as a man who shows fear, but perhaps that's just because he's never been on the losing side. You're sure to cheer particularly loud when Ghost takes the field once again. Your father doesn't even stand for Graves.

The priest gives his spiel, the knights bow before the king, and you stand to smile at the crowd when the prize is reaffirmed. Your hand in marriage, and the whole kingdom as a result. You're not surprised when the priest nearly runs from the area, not when both knights draw their sword as soon as they raise their heads.

You can't say who swings first, only that the clash of their swords is deafening. Both knights hold the other back before Ghost squares his shoulders and swings again.

Graves deflects.

Ghost swings.

Graves deflects. Swings.

Ghost deflects.

They trade blows that make your ears ring. Their swords swung with such force you can almost see the flex of muscle under their armor. You can see why your father has kept Graves close, he's a talented swordsman, but he isn't Ghost. Graves is fast, following the momentum of his swings. It's flashy compared to Ghost's technical perfection, hollow with wasted movement.

Ghost takes a step back and you watch him switch his grip. In all the years you've known him you've never seen him change hands, but when he twirls the blade you see an ease of movement that seems supernatural. It's enough of a display to make Graves lunge forward.

You remember Ghost telling you once that the only true rule of combat is to win at all costs. That chivalry is for those that can afford a loss. There's no weakness in the way Ghost moves, and you have no doubt in his ability to win.

He side steps Graves' attack, his sword raised to bring the hilt down hard on Graves' shoulder, and stops as his armor's straps pull tight

and snap.

You watch with the rest of the helpless audience as Graves flips his grip and plunges his blade deep into Ghost's side. Slicing the metal clean through through the back of him dark with the sheen of blood spattering onto the dirt like a waterfall.

It's not the cling of swords the rings in your ears as you leap to your feet, but your own shrieking. It follows Ghost to the ground as he settles hard onto one knee. The shouting of the crowd is a deafening cacophony of "Blood! Blood! Blood!"

And your world crumbles into a single point as Ghost's helm tips to stare up at your father's victory.

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fuctacles · 7 months ago

Text

The first one of many

for @stevieweek Day 4: Special Outfit + first dress + fantasy and for @steddiemicrofic "one" G | 1111 | no cw | ren-faire, pre-relationship, transfem Stevie, smitten Eddie | Ao3 Stevie Week: Day 1 | Day 2 (art) | Day 3 (art) | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

"Do you like this one?"

Eddie appears by her side so abruptly, she jumps out of her skin. He smiles apologetically.

"Sorry," he says, but doesn't let himself be distracted. He reaches out to touch the sleeve of the dress Stevie's been eyeing.

It's yellow and white, with a floral pattern and a square neckline. The sleeves are slightly puffy, and the corset can be laced on the front for adjustment. It's one of the flashier ones at the stall, but Eddie wouldn't expect anything less from the girl standing next to him.

He's still surprised she agreed to come with them, to for a few days taste and touch the world her friends love so much. She told him earlier, that she liked everyone's costumes, but it's the first time anything has captured her attention like this.

"Do you want to try it on?" he asks.

"No, that's okay." She shakes her head immediately, but he won't be having it.

"Come on, we're here to have fun, all of us. And if trying on dresses is fun for you, then let's do it!" he encourages her, putting his infectious enthusiasm into the words.

She's still hesitant, but he can tell the garment in front of them is like a siren's call.

"I don't know..."

Dustin bumps into them while eyeing some of the leatherwork displayed nearby, and Eddie holds his breath, hoping it's one of these times his lack of filter is helpful. The boy looks at his friends and the garment they're facing.

"You guys buying a dress?"

"No," says Stevie.

"Maybe," says Eddie.

Dustin studies the dress with his judgmental eyes, gaze darting from it to Stevie and back again.

"You should at least try it. It's your color," he says, before walking away.

Eddie turns to his friend triumphantly.

"Well?" he grins. He can see in her eyes that she wants to but is having a hard time admitting it.

"I guess?" she says eventually. "I mean, it's just for fun, right?"

"Of course!" Eddie quickly flags down the seller, before she can change her mind. "Excuse me, good sir! Is there somewhere we can try it on?"

Which ends up with them ushered to the back of the stall, with instructions on how to operate all of the dress's clasps and lacings.

"I'll wait here. Tell me if you need any help," Eddie says before pushing his friend behind the partition, dress in her hand.

He can hear the rustle of fabric behind the heavy curtain, Stevie's clothes dropping heavily to the grass beneath while he's doing his best not to think about her undressing. She's cursing and huffing while pulling on the new dress and it helps to quell his nasty thoughts a bit. And then everything goes silent.

"Stevie?" He frowns. "You alright there?"

"Yeah," she answers, but it's so tiny he can barely hear it.

"Can I come in?"

"Uh-huh."

He pushes the edge of the green fabric aside and slips inside the little alcove. In the tight space, Stevie is staring in a full-body mirror, hands smoothing down her hips, pulling her hair forward, pushing up her breasts.

Eddie finds himself enchanted by her, not for the first time.

"You look beautiful," he says.

"You think so?"

"Yeah. Though, your corset lacing needs some practice." She huffs at that. "Can I?"

The way she turns to face him, full of trust, makes his heart melt and slide down his ribs.

Delicately and trying not to touch her chest, like a true gentleman, he unlaces the corset to tighten it at the waist. Her gasp makes him bite his lip painfully.

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine. You can go a bit tighter."

They work together until her waist and hips make a beautiful curve, and her tiny breasts are pushed up in a flattering way. She seems to be especially fixated on them, on the bit of skin peeking out from the low neckline.

Eddie can share that sentiment.

"Thank you," she whispers once she's facing the mirror again, fingers tracing the newfound shape of her body.

"There's nothing to thank me for, you're just naturally beautiful." Eddie smiles, reaching out to tug her hair forward again, so it falls against the bare skin of her collarbones. The sight makes his mouth go dry so he decides to move his thoughts elsewhere. "I think it's the first time I've seen you in a dress."

Stevie hums.

"That's because I don't have one."

"Huh?"

"I've tried on Nancy's or my mother's, but I don't have one of my own," she clarifies with a shrug.

"That's unthinkable," Eddie declares. "We're getting it." The thought that her first dress could be a nerdy, ren-faire one, makes his stomach flip.

"It's too expensive." She shakes her head, but he can see she's sad about it. "I can get a dress at the mall for a third of this price."

Eddie nods along.

"Yes, you could get a cheap, boring rat mall dress," he agrees. "Or you could buy one of a kind, handmade with passion and care, worthy of a princess."

Watching her cheeks flush is worth the risk of exposing his feelings.

"Where would I even wear it?" she keeps digging her heels in the ground. And, while she has a point...

"Here, for starters. And any other ren-faire I'll take you to just so I can show off how pretty you are."

With the way she looks up at him, she might already know.

He just hopes he has enough money. He pulls out his wallet and Stevie frowns.

"You're not getting it for me."

"Oh, I am." He hopes he is, at least. In a rush of bravery, he smiles to add, "Consider it my first courting gift," and leaves before she can protest.

When he's counting his money and wonders who he can beg for a loan, Dustin approaches him with a wad of cash.

"I saw the price earlier and figured you guys could need it." He smiles with that self-satisfied smirk of his, but for once, Eddie doesn't mind.

He hands the money to the merchant and runs back to Stevie.

"Hey, does it count as a courting gift if the twerps pitched in?" he asks through the partition and is promptly pulled inside.

"Are you serious about the courting?" Stevie asks, with her face so close to Eddie's, he has trouble processing her words.

"Deadly," he whispers, hoping they're on the same page.

"Is there, like, a nerdy ritual I have to follow for it?" she asks.

"Uh, a kiss would be nice," he says. Pleads.

She smiles and leans in.

#stevieweek #stevieweek24 #steddie #mine #cj x stevieweek #stevie harrington #stevierything #transfem stevie harrington #steddie fanfiction #steddie microfic #cj x steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficjuly #steddiemicrofic #steddie fluff #transfeminine steve harrington

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evilminji · 1 year ago

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Can Danny see the Forbidden Shrimp Colors?

Like, as Phantom.

Because his eyes are goo.

They are not ACTUALLY human eyes with human limitations, nor possess human eye rods and cones etc. They are human SHAPED Ectoplasmic goo. That is working as the "Eye sight" area of his goo body. Honestly, it's the same question with his hearing etc. But SPECIFICALLY?

Does he get? Some sort of FULL spectrum sight?

Do ghosts and ghosts ALONE... see the world as it ACTUALLY is? Actually, genuinely, looks like? I know humans can tell apart more shade of green then most if not all other species. And a host of other things. But other animals have specialized sight too.

Do ghosts just get? All of it? Because that's just... Sight.

They no longer NEED specialized this or that, to hunt for food or escape predators. Their bodies are no longer bound by species specific limitations. Unless they, you know, felt like it.

Just?

Imagine what that must be LIKE? You transform and the world transforms with you. Everything becoming technicolor. BEYOND color. Depth and complexity, shades you don't have names for. The sky, the grass, trees and the BIRDS in them. All completely different.

An ocean of Shades, peacefully wandering along. Never destined to become Ghosts. Heading towards this afterlife or that. Some just sitting and watching the birds. Not even from just humans. The ground is covered by the Shades of plants long past. There are birds long gone floating along, off to some bird afterlife.

You can't even touch them.

They're like mist. Visible, but as solid as water vapor and reflecting light. They disappear when you transform back.

You can SEE more of space, of the atmosphere and the magnetic fields, of the folds of reality itself, then you ever thought were possible. You'll NEVER be able to put a name to even a fraction of the colors or shades. It's beautiful. Dances.

It's also gone when you transform back.

You won't be able to hear it anymore either. Or any other song and sound that rings out. That hums and buzzes, rumbles and croons. It will feel like climbing back inside a box too small for you and shutting the lid. Right up until it doesn't. Because the brain is a powerful thing, and you always seem to forget, how MUCH everything is.

Because you'd be unable to take it, if you couldn't let it go. If you couldn't keep forgetting. If being human didn't fit.

But it's cool.

You can see shrimp colors.

@hypewinter @hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation

#dp prompt #danny fenton #shrimp colors #what can you see au #colors au #minji's writing

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johanburgerstore · 2 years ago

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imagine being unfunny on reddit that's embarassinggggg💀💀💀

#green is the color of the grass that you need to touch

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whereserpentswalk · 6 months ago

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There was an abandoned church where the faeries used to come out, tucked away in one of those neighborhoods in the city where only residents ever go. It was a beautiful stone building, covered in vines and ivy, half broken, resting between the corner stores and brownstones. They say it's so old that nobody even remembers the name of the god they worshipped there.

And there used to be faeries there. They would come out quite frequently. Nobody maintained the place, but it was ruined enough so you could just walk in through where the door used to be. And you could see them there, the kobolds who would sing their ancient songs in languages long forgotten. And the hollow backed women who would dance in the silver moonligh, and who turned men who tried to touch them into trees. There where spirits who'd look like dragonflies one momment, and than little winged people the next. And great dire trolls at times would come out and brew strange drinks from grass and root. There were mothmen who flew in the skies above the ancient church, looking down with big yellow eyes. There where witches who'd grant strange requests for strange prices, and who'd look like women from a far, and great mantises when near. And there were even darker things, faceless men, and black eyed girls, who'd come, but they never harmed a soul on those old church grounds.

They say it became a place where people who were grateful for such things would come. Urban sorcerers, and cryptid hunters, unmarketable artists, and outcasts and members of forgotten subcultures would come to. It was mostly just a place people in the city knew about, people who knew enough about the fae, people who had respect for the fae. A few faeries would let themselves show up in dim photographs, perhaps to appear on somebody's blog, but most people who would go there knew to ask first. And they say that. In her gratefulness to the ruins, for being a place where the children of Odin and the children of Gaia had found peace, the queen of the autumn faeries had gifted them a magic sword, that shined like sunset amber, planted forever in the ruins of the church's alter.

And once there was a magical sword there, something valuable there, the city decided it had to take notice. It wasn't just some worthless stone anymore, it was something with more money behind it now. They transfered the ruins' ownership from the underfunded historical society, to a successful real-estate company, who would know how to handle it well, and perhaps bring in some tourists.

And suddenly, things began to change. See, the sword needed to be well protected of course, so there were security cameras all over the place to keep out robbers, and guards of course to stand around and yell at people, and of course perhaps to fire iron bullets at any faeries who thought about hurting humans who wanted to be free to touch them and pet them and take pictures without consequences. And there were metal detectors of course, and there needed to be a closing time because suddenly there was a staff that had to be payed.

And somehow there were less and less faeries then, and the people who had used to come so often had gone away too. But that didn't matter, they still needed to turn a profit, and they had started advertising it, so soon tourists with their fancy cameras and expectations, and families with little children on leashes and dogs in their strollers, and fourteen year old boys who giggled because faerie could mean gay, all started to come, and waited on line to see the minority of faeries who were still there. And soon the walls of the old church had signs and ads and the walls were painted a green because the company thought grey was an ugly color, and the entrance had all those little marketable t-shirts and plushes for people to buy.

And soon there were no more faeries. They didn't want to come. The sword had turned black.

They say the last faeries to leave were the toughest of them, and that they didn't like the new type of guest, trolls would put human bones in their last stews, and witches would curse anyone who took pictures of them, and the black eyed girls and faceless men finally dragged people into faeland never to return. But even they left eventually, all of them did. They say the sword healed when it was bright and amber, but when it was black it's magic was no weaker, but it killed, anyone who touched the black sword would rot away. They say other magical creatures, meaner ones, found good homes in the church when it became so filled with the company's things, blood drinking vampires, and howling ghosts, and deal making devils, found the place to be a perfect hunting spot. The faeries never came back, and the church lost its profitability, they tried to rip it down, and use the land for some pretty shot or restaurant, but they could never clear the foundation, nobody could lift the sword.

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sorbetisfruity · 2 years ago

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I feel like Neige’s ideal type is a literal princess/prince.

Like he sees you in the forest and you’re sleeping or dozing off and animals and insects are just surrounding you. And they’re not hurting you, they’re admiring you.

And he’s immediately like, “I want them.”

Btw, can y’all tell that I love Neige??? And Vil?? Sorry I write about them sm, but GAGSGVS I love them!!!!

Also this definitely ties into my little imagine I did a week or so ago about Vil being super mad if he ever found out you were close with Neige. This is how you two originally met!!!!

ᶻ𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓𐰁✰

You sigh as you step foot in the forest, feeling the wind blow through your hair.

You hear birds chirping and fluttering in the trees, and squirrels and rabbits skittering about.

Finally you get to hear something other than a boring lecture or Crowley.

Why are you here, you ask?

After some much needed begging from you (and your friends and teachers) Crowley is letting you have a week long break from school.

And thank the great seven for that, because god do you need it.

I mean, with 4 overblots back to back, and practically being the school therapist and Crowley’s lovely assistant…?

Yeah you’re definitely a little stressed. And you definitely deserve a break.

A break from school and everyone else.

Your goal today was to not talk to any of your friends. You love them but god, they can be a bit…obnoxious sometimes.

As you walk and think to yourself, you come across a clearing in the woods.

The clearing is covered in plush, green grass. Flowers of all colors grow around it, making it look like a bed meant for a fairy. The sun hits the clearing as well, making the grass just warm enough for a nap.

It looks like a scene from a fairytale!!

..a little nap wouldn’t hurt, right?

….

…right.

You stretch as you step over the flowers, not wanting to break or hurt them. And as you lay down onto the grass, you sigh contently.

This patch of grass was more comfortable than your actual bed back at Ramshackle!!

You close your eyes, listening to the buzzing of the bees around you as you fall asleep…

And as you snoozed away, animals gathered around you, looking at you as if you were some foreign being.

A butterfly lands softly on the tip of your nose, as a couple more cuddle up into your hair.

A rabbit nudges your hand, before cuddling up into your arm.

A doe lays at your feet, and a couple of cardinals and blue jays perch upon a branch by your head, chirping curiously.

You were surrounded and loved by animals and insects of all kinds, yet you didn’t stir from your slumber.

But suddenly, a twig broke, releasing a loud crack throughout the once silent forest.

The animals and insects turned their heads and came face to face with a boy in white.

The boy was young looking, short and had black hair. His skin was fair and well, to put it simply, he was absolutely gorgeous.

With big brown eyes and a round face, he looked as innocent and as sweet as can be.

“Why, hello there birdies!” He spoke softly, yet excitedly as the birds tweeted happily and landed on his out stretched hand.

“How are you guys doing today?”

The birds chirped in response, turning their heads towards you. Who, somehow, was still asleep despite the amount of animals around you.

“Oh..? And who..who is this?” The boy in white spoke softly once again, kneeling down and moving some hair out of your face.

He blushed softly, realizing that one, you’re sleeping, and two?

…you are absolutely ethereal..

“Who are you?..you look oh so..familiar?” You look like someone he’d see in a dream. A dream where he met a beautiful princess/prince and practically married them on the spot.

He touched your face with his hand. He touched you softly and delicately, as if you were made of porcelain.

Your skin was soft and flushed, a result of Vils skincare routine and the sun brushing against your face like a warm blanket as you slept.

Who were you?…

You stirred in your sleep, eyes slowly opening.

And as you began to wake up, the boy in white jumped up and ran the other direction!! Which startled a couple of the animals around you.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up is that your eyes were covered. And as you came more and more to your senses, you realized a butterfly was sitting upon your nose!!

“Well, good afternoon to you as well Mr. Butterfly.” You hummed, smiling as the butterfly flapped its blue wings happily.

“Here, I’m sure these flowers will be more comfortable than my nose.”

You picked up the butterfly gently and set it on a white flower next to you, giggling as it flew off the flower and instead found comfort on your head.

“Fine, fine. You may lay on me. But I really do think the flowers would be….more..”

You paused, looking around and seeing the surplus of animals surrounding you.

“Uh…when did I inherit a petting zoo?” You giggled to yourself, petting the rabbit softly.

The rabbit thumped the ground with its back paw happily as you pet it, leaning into your touch.

You stared up at the sky, realizing how late it was. Your nap was supposed to be pretty short, but it seemed it ended up a couple hours long.

You sighed, standing up and stretching. Paying no mind to the butterfly’s that flew out of your hair and onto the flowers surrounding you.

“It was nice to meet y’all, but I’ve gotta head back.” You spoke, scratching the doe behind the ear, “as soft as this grass was, I don’t think sleeping outside in the dark would be safe for me.”

You waved goodbye to your newly found animal friends, smiling softly as you began to make the walk back to Ramshackle.

But.

“Oof!” “Woah!”

You bumped into someone, landing on top of them.

“I’m so-” You started, before realizing how close you two were.

One wrong move and you two would definitely…

Ki…

No!!!!

Don’t think about that, this is a stranger!

You frantically scrambled off of the person, standing up and brushing yourself off before apologizing profusely.

As the person stood up, you realized it was a guy.

He was dressed in white, shorter than you, and, to put it simply? He was beautiful.

He probably rivaled Vil!!

(Never tell Vil that.)

He had black hair, a round face, and brown puppy dog eyes.

Overall? Total cutie.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going..” You broke the stare you two were holding, hands waving frantically.

“Oh please, it was all my fault!! Don’t worry. I’m fine. Are you okay?” He asked, his face twisted in concern.

“Of course I’m okay!! I landed on top of you, after all.” Oh My Goddddd why would you say that?!?!

“You probably took most of the hit.” You awkwardly laughed out.

“So, what’s your name? And are you sure you’re okay?” You questioned, breaking the silence.

You didn’t know who he was?

Neige wasn’t one to be egotistical, but he knew he was quite well known around Twisted Wonderland.

If anything he was expecting you to ask for an autograph or something.

But this? Someone who didn’t know him?

Now this was exciting.

And as he heard you talk more, he realized something.

He KNEW you.

No, no, not from a dream.

From the news!! From the papers! From Magicam!!!

You’re-

“*ahem*? Hey dude, you okay? Maybe you did fall a lot harder than we thought…I can take you to the nurse if you’d like!” You interrupted his train of thought, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Oh!!! No, no, I don’t need a nurse. It’s nothing. Just got lost in thought.” Neige giggled out, grabbing one of your hands.

“I’m Neige, Neige Leblanche! Who are you?”

“I’m-”

You’re Y/N L/N, you’re from NRA, and you’re the hero who’s been stopping overblot after overblot since the school year began.

He knows you. And he’s been wanting to meet you the moment he heard about you from Che’nya.

Neige stared at your eyes, getting lost in them as you spoke about yourself.

But he quickly snapped out of it when you asked him a rather interesting question.

“So, do you go to school here? I’ve never seen you around…if you were in a dorm? It’d definitely be Pomefiore. You’re way too pretty to NOT be in there!” You said, making his pale face turn pink.

The prettiest person he’s ever met just called HIM pretty!?!

Now he really thinks he’s dreaming…

“But you’re dressed in white. Kids at NRA don’t tend to wear white. Except for Kalim and me occasionally. And that’s only when Rook and Vil have some little outfits they wanna shove me in!” You joked, giggling to yourself.

“Oh no, I don’t go here! I go to RSA!” He spoke softly, ignoring the fact you knew Vil as he moved closer to you.

“That definitely fits you better,” you laughed again, “you look too nice and act too nice to be in NRA.”

“I could say the same thing about you too, you know.” He said almost immediately, the words slipping out of his mouth as smooth as butter.

Your face flushed, looking at him in surprise before looking away.

“I’d say you look even nicer than I do, Y/N.”

Your face darkened even more, not even daring to look him in the eyes.

Suddenly, you were hyperaware of everything.

Especially how soft his hand was on yours.

How long has he been holding your hand?

It’s so…tense.

Are you always this weird around pretty people?

“Anyways, it’s getting late. And pretty people need their beauty sleep, right? I think it’s time you head home, Y/N.” Neige smiled brightly up at you, moving into the next topic with ease as if he didn’t just fluster you to no end.

“But first!! Give me your number, or at least your Magicam. I wanna talk to you more!! You’re so interesting!”

You’ve told the poor boy practically nothing about yourself other than your name, yet he’s head over heels and ready to try and win you over.

You agreed, wanting to talk to him more too.

After all, there’s no harm in talking to a literal Prince Charming, is there?

“I’ll see you later, Neige. Goodnight, and sweet dreams.” You spoke tiredly, yawning as you began to walk away.

“Goodnight to you as well Y/N!! I’ll text you in the morning! Sleep well!!”

And as you walked back to Ramshackle, Neige couldn’t help but giggle in glee as he stared at your number and Magicam.

(You gave him both. You couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes:(((( )

He can’t believe he met his princess/prince, it was just like a fairytale he’d read when he was younger.

Now, he just needs to make you fall for him!!

But how?

ᶻ𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓𐰁✰

I always end up making people unintentionally obsessive/possessive:(((

But luckily, I think it fits Neige.

Bro NEEDS his happy ending and he needs it NOW.

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undercvrfan444 · 8 days ago

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Marriage had never been something you understood. What was so special about being tied to someone who couldn’t muster enough respect to treat you as anything more than a dog?. Your mother and father had hated each other. Your father was a cruel man who never had a kind touch, his words would sear into your brain making you feel worthless. Over the years your mother grew to be the same way. She would take out her frustrations on you by keeping you hungry for days with only scraps as your food, It was the only sense of control she had in her life.

From the jump you understood this world was a cruel one. It seemed as thought everyone was always out to have control over someone else, no matter how big or small.

You were 16. 16 years old when a royal chariot arrived at the gates of your father’s estate. It was honesty a hurricane of snapshots from that point on. You were sent of with nothing more than a plastic smile from your parents and the clothes on your back. That’s fine. You didn’t need any reminders from this place, it wasn’t ever your own home.

The carriage ride was grueling. Going for days on end with little to no stopping. When you’d ask when you’d be arriving all the charioteers would say is, “soon madame, soon.”

Unfortunately it was easy to feel their pitiful stares soak into your back. The same way you’ve been looked at by any visitors who saw the abuse your parents put you through. Over time you grew to ignore the continuous stares and whispers but that doesn’t mean it stung any less. Chills would erupt over the ashen skin of your arms and chest any time someone’s stare lingered longer than a few moments.

The few hours of sleep you’d allow yourself quickly caught up to you. Bumping all over the inside of the carriage was all that stood between you and rest, aside from being uncomfortable in the new place. Strong, whimsically beautiful gates finally appeared in front of your eyes after traveling for a little less than four days. Thank God.

Rumors encapsulated the Silver King as to what kind of man he is. Some say he’s satan himself with how gorgeous he is while being so unhinged and cruel to his enemies. It sparked a flame of anxiety within your chest, had you been taken from one prison to be put in another? Would a repeat of your parent’s marriage all over again? Why couldn’t you have met the man before being thrown into his marital affairs?

Gravel crunched under the hooves of horses, coming to a stop smoothly. Upon your door being opened a hand extending to help you out, rows of women and men stood before you. The men were dressed in black garments with gold and cerulean blue accents to highlight their kingdoms colors. Women of all sizes and colors stood before you. Their eyes were so inviting; full of curiosity reserved especially for the new mistress they’d be attending to.

You’re awestruck from the minute you’re being led into the front door of the palace to the time you’re being settled in your expansive room. Tall ceilings with beautifully hand crafted molding curved above your head. Plush white blankets cover a soft mattress offering comfort after a long journey. Floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the gardens occupied one wall. How beautiful. Freshly cut green grass spread so far you couldn’t believe your eyes. Bushes, rows and rows of flowers, white roses, beautiful cornflowers, trees with shapes of all sizes, if you could imagine it, somehow it was incorporated perfectly into the landscape. Just beyond the elegantly crafted garden a view of the ocean took your breath away. Waves crashed onto sandy beaches and glittered under the unforgiving sun.

From behind you, a tall woman a few years older than you rests her hand on your shoulder.. “I know it’s a lot to take in. The king asks you to excuse him for not being able to make your arrival, unfortunately he was caught up with some diplomats.”

Her voice is sweet like honey, long mousy hair was tired neatly into a bun. Her skin was golden like the sun had dripped all over her and soaked in. “Alina, ma’am.” Standing beside her was ridiculous, you felt as thought the roles should be reversed. Alina looked like she was out of a fairytale and acted that way too.

You smile sheepishly at her, not used to the hospitality. “Y/n, please. It’s very nice to meet you Alina.” At your request to call you by your name she nods, bowing her head. “Would you like for someone to come bring your belongings up?” It was an innocent question, really. However it was one that made you flush a little knowing you didn’t have any luggage with you.

Clearing your throat and shaking your head, “I uhm..i’m wearing what i’ve brought.” The dingy dress you wore barely fit, swallowing the frail frame of your body in a way that made you appear bigger than you were. Her apology came quick. Yours faster so.

“Don’t be sorry, please. It’s better I start fresh anyway.”

She smiles sympathetically. There’s an awkward silence that settles between you for a brief moment. You yawn softly and rub a finger over your eyes, fighting the sleep that threatens to break through the wall you’ve put up. Alina wastes no time in hurrying the other women from your room, offering a sliver of privacy. “Y/n, i’m sure you’re exhausted. Why don’t you get some rest before dinner tonight?”

The thought tumbled through your head for a few seconds before the sleep won and you agreed with her. It was such a hard shift from what you were used to at home. Here there were people to serve you every second of the day whereas at your parents estate you couldn’t hardly get the attention of chamber maids, the thought made your heart ache. The king surely can’t be as terrifying as everyone paints him…not with how kind his staff was. People ruled under tyranny never had a chance to be gentle, the complete opposite of what you’ve experienced so far. Hopefully this marriage wouldn’t be like your parents, but even if it was you could get used to finding a platonic relationship in your maids.

As Alina drew the curtains over the windows blocking any sunlight so you could rest easily, you found your way to the bed easily. It didn’t matter how dirty you were from traveling and getting a small tour of the castle wing you’d be staying in. You could bathe when you finally feel up to the task. As of now your joints ached to feel the warm embrace of a bed, one that wasn’t rock hard or worn down. You slipped your shoes off quietly, pushing them neatly beside your end table.

“If there is anything you need just call for me, i’ll be close by.”

Sitting still, you thank the sun kissed women for all of her help. You’d have to get used to the feeling of people taking care of you without feeling so bad about it. Feet shuffled out of your room, hearing the door close with a muffled thud finally gave you the opportunity to fall back on the sheets.

—-

“I do believe attacking head on with an overwhelming number of men would be our best bet!” An older council member slammed his fist against the long table. Tea cups rattled from the vibrations and the sound alone pulled Satoru’s patience even thinner.

Two hours had passed since his wife-to-be arrived at his palace and unfortunately he has yet to meet the woman.

While he intended to be the one to retrieve her from the carriage, things just didn’t work in his favor. An overdue meeting dragged on and on until Satoru could no longer hold his tongue and stood up, brows furrowed. “Mr. Satiyara, I will not remind you again to keep your anger in check around your king.”

Head lowered unanimously at the authoritative tone. Old and young men alike knew you would be arriving today but unfortunately this meeting wasn’t something that could be put off any longer. Apologies were muttered amongst the men while Satoru sighed deeply, moving to leave the stuffy room. “I’ll require some time to look at our troops, weather patterns, and any other factors that may affect our plans. When i’ve come to a conclusion i’ll call for a meeting once more. Good day.”

Quietly the taller man sauntered out of the room full of advisors, his head swarming. Activity around the castle had been suspended for a few days as there was a situation with a group of men in town. Petty thieving had evolved into manslaughter and a kidnapping and unfortunately the men holed up in a house with a family inside. Bustling streets were empty as time ticked on, fear ran high throughout the town wondering if there could be more men hiding in the alleys.

With all of the hectic traffic from the last several days, Satoru hoped meeting his new wife would be a breath of fresh air. All he’d known of you was from a portrait that came across his table, his advisary, Nanami mentioned how important it was for him to find a wife considered he’s been on the throne for 5 years now. His father had suffered injuries on the battle field where he lost his life. His mother was so heartbroken over her husband’s death she’d worried herself sick, literally. Within weeks she had went off to join Satoru’s father leaving him alone to succeed the throne.

Warm rays of sun flooded into the castle hallways. Evenings had proven to be Satoru’s favorite time of day. People were winding down from the day, preparing themselves for the wonders night would soon offer. It was quiet in the palace for what feels like the first time in days.

Making his way to the king’s quarters, Satoru felt the muscles in his shoulders pinch tighter. “nanami, could I ask you something?”

Quietly a bath was drawn steam rolling into the air as lavender trickled into the men’s noses. Nanami was almost out of the bathroom when he’d heard his name, eyebrow quirking. “What is it, my king?”

Nanami had been his father’s advisor, promptly filling the role for the young king. Ever since Satoru was young he’d always come to Nanami for whatever he needed when his parents were busy entertaining the kingdom. From things as little as being upset that someone had forgotten to sew his favorite teddy from where it’d been so worn down, to confiding in Nanami that he’d felt unable to lead the kingdom as his father once did.

Satoru slipped his robes off lowering his body into the warm water. “Do you think she’ll be afraid of me?”

Thick silence fills the room. In all the years nanami had known him, only recently did the man develop a habit of being so somber. Throughout his childhood Satoru was a mischievous little boy, making the staff laugh and sometimes frustrating them with his antics. His loud personality dulled into a cruel and cold shell of what it once was.

“I believe it is up to you to affect how the new queen will view you.” With his answer still hanging in the King’s head, Nanami left to oversee dinner preparations for the night.

——

“Ma’am, it’s time to get ready for dinner.” A warm hand shakes you awake, fingers resting softly on your shoulder.

You grumble quietly into the satin pillow, savoring the new feeling of comfort. It only took a few seconds for you to sit up and let your feet slide from the bed and pad lightly on the floor. Alina leads you into the bathroom where a porcelain bathtub held up with gold claw feet sat bubble filled and inviting in front of you.

The bath went quick. Alina as well as two other women helped you get dressed, moving around you with precision to adorn your ears with beautiful earrings and brush your hair. It was strange to be pampered beyond more than you’ve experienced. Girls throughout kingdoms would swoon for the kind of treatment you receive, however, it was overwhelming. The feeling of other women waiting hand and foot on you didn’t feel right, your whole life it’s always been you.

Beautiful blue fabric draped your body. The bodice fitting you perfectly highlighting your curves. Carefully Alina strung a beautiful necklace on you, pearls were spaced in between small gold chains. Your earrings matched perfectly, small studs of pearl that shone brightly when you moved your head.

“Are you ready to leave ma’am?”

Taking one last look at yourself through the mirror you nodded. “I think so, I'm a little nervous.” You and Alina walk ahead the gaggle of women who chatter quietly behind. The coastal aspects of Satoru’s kingdom was not lost on the castle, beach-like architecture was everywhere.

“Why are you nervous?” Alina asked beside you, her honey like demeanor offering comfort.

“What if the king doesn’t like me? Like, what if I'm not what he expected?”

A hand smoothed down your arm. “I’m sure you’ll be more than what he expects.”

Delicious aromas waft into your nose the closer you get to the dinning hall making your stomach grumble. Before you go in, all of your ladies pause and bow offering a sign of respect before they leave. Unfortunately Alina is among those who leave. A guard opens the dinning hall doors for you and immediately your heart begins to pound.

Satoru stands from the table gently, offering a welcoming smile as he walks over to you. He’s dressed in a casual yet still luxurious outfit, Black pants and vest with a white collared undershirt, his shoes shining softly in the light. His forearms were exposed as was the upper half of his chest, beautiful skin teasing your eyes.

You smile timidly up at the King, offering your hand to him so he could lead you further to the table. For a moment Satoru stands in front of you, eyes full of an indescribable emotion that makes you feel warm. “You look beautiful.”

The whispered words cause your face to flush, eyes looking down as you thank him quietly.

Satoru’s heart feels as if it’s going to leap out of his chest. Looking at you the first thing that jumps out is how young you are, much younger than what your portrait proved. The other striking thing for him is how easy on the eyes you are. Small rounded features make up your face and you’re larger than life eyes make you look like a deer, a fawn. He could tell you were nervous and it made him smile a bit knowing you’d be in for a change.

When he took your hand in his it was a shock to feel how much smaller it felt in his. “I’m sorry for not being able to meet you when you arrived this morning. Hopefully my absence wasn’t too much of a problem.”

His voice was velvety smooth, something many people here seemed to possess. Everyone back home had a bite to their words and truthfully it was surprising how softly the King spoke to you.

“Oh that’s alright. I-I’m sure you were busy, my King.”

“You don’t have to address me formally, you know? You can call me Satoru if you’d rather.” Satoru walked beside you until he was close enough to the table to pull your chair out, pushing it back in once you’d sat.

It was strange to have such a powerful man pulling your chair for you, much less offering his real name.

Food splayed over the table in hoards. It was difficult for you to see all of the food that would surely go to waste knowing there were people who surely struggled to eat. You knew all to well what it felt like to not eat.

“You don’t have to be so shy, sweetheart, I'm not going to bite you.” The words were loud between the two of you making a slight pink hue tint your cheeks.

“I-i’m sorry, i’m just not used to this.”

For a second there’s an uncomfortable silence in the air. From the start of you being in the castle you had been uncomfortable but not because of anyone else, because you felt undeserving. You never wanted to be married. Never wanted to be served as if you were born higher than someone else. Yet here you were, the King marrying you nonetheless.

“Y/n, how old are you?”

Your head jerks up to meet Satoru’s eyes, nerves shot. “I-why?”

“How old are you?”

“16.”

Quickly Satoru stood from where he sat beside you, his back to you before you could get another word out. While you were shocked, so was the King. In his initial selecting of a queen you had jumped out at him, you were so mysterious yet absolutely breathtaking. For days he thought of what kind of person you would be. When you finally arrived it was strange to see you act so shy and Satoru was one to understand that being in the royal palace would shake anyone, but you were…different. For the white haired man it was the first hint to him that something wasn’t right, you looked so much younger than your portrait. Listening to how you barely spoke and watching the reserved uncomfortable body language you had when he was close to you just didn’t feel right. Surely a lady of age would know how to act in the courting stages of a marriage. Right?

So when the thought popped in his pretty head of you being underage he just had to ask the question. And when you informed him of how young you were it made him nauseous, what kind of man would he be to force someone so young into being his bride?

You barely pick at your food, stomaching a few bites so you weren’t starving and then hurrying back to your room. Why did he run from you? Didn’t he know your age when he originally wanted to marry you?

——

It’s late at night, servants have found their way to their quarters and the castle is quiet. Fires crackle all around you to heat the large structure. Your mind races with words left unsaid between you and the king. your feet pad lightly on the floor as you explore the halls of the castle, mapping it in your head incase you ever need an escape plan.

Gojo is in his study, papers and documents covering a thick wooden desk haphazardly. His eyes grow heavier as the night goes on and it’s almost impossible for him to stay awake. Out of no where there’s a small sound of feet on the ground outside his door. The strange sound pulls him out of his seat, creeping to the door to see what’s in the hall. It’s strange for a man who commands immense respect to tip toe around his house. When Gojo peeks his head out of the door he’s surprised to see you in your night garments. Or should he say…garment. The sight causes a red hue to find its way on his face before stepping into the hall.

“Sweetheart?”

The sound of his voice surprised you, pulling a quiet gasp from out of your throat. You turned softly to find where his voice came from. Satoru’s large frame sent chills through your body, his eyes were sunken in as if sleep had become something hard to come back as of late. “M-My King!.” Your heart beat softly against the confines of your ribs, threatening to escape.

A pained expression paints his face softly at the formal title, his lips falling into a frown. “Please. Satoru.” The words come out hoarse.

You nod your head and watch as he steps over to you. One of his larger hands comes to finger the hem of your nightgown, grimacing at the thin fabric. Your spine goes rigid, nerves tingling down your body at close proximity.

“Do you find me disgusting?” Is all you whisper, a lump forming in your throat.

His jaw went slack, hands tightening on the fabric. “What?” He asks breathily.

Warm puffs of Satoru’s breath brush your uncovered collarbone and the tips of your shoulders. “I said-“

“I know what you said.” Satoru lets his hand come to rest on your cheek. “Listen sweetheart. I’m sorry for leaving abruptly during dinner…I guess I just didn’t expect you to be so young.”

Quietly a tear rolls down your cheek, nodding ever so slightly as you listen. Satoru clicks his tongue, face softening and his lips pressing a featherlight but secure kiss to your forehead.

His arms wrap around you, pulling your smaller body into his and lacing a few long fingers through your hair. “I don’t find you disgusting.”

Holding onto his shirt, you shake in his arms. A fawn being held so gently between the claws of a bear with no intentions of killing. Your small cries were muffled in Satoru’s shoulder, he held you so sweetly it was hard for you to believe you’d only just met the man.

Satoru hushes you softly, pressing a chaste kiss into your hair. “hey, what’s going on?” You buried deeper into the study feeling of the King’s chest. For the first time you had the touch of a man in your life that wasn’t hateful, it was hard to describe other than feeling safe. The kind of safe where the world could be crumbling around you and Satoru would still protect you.

“I..I’m just tired. From the second I got here to now even I've felt out of place.”

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

Slowly you let your chin rest on Satoru’s chest, his eyes staring into yours. “You are the future Queen. If there is something you don’t agree with or it makes you uncomfortable then YOU have the power to say no.”

“I don't want to be rude though.”

“Then I'll be rude for you.”

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #king gojo

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dduane · 24 days ago

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It's deeply frustrating to me sometimes how difficult it can be to get the lighting right in these when you've got a situation in which the light levels should be moderately low. I've been poking at this one (off @lookadreygon 's comment in the notes on this image) for some days now, in between doing other things, and every time one thing gets fixed, something else turns out to be wrong.

(This time it's the grass. It shouldn't be that damn green when the trees have turned color. I need to brown it down.)

The main difficulty is that if you overstate the lighting, it looks fake. But if you understate it out of a desire to have the scene look natural, you can't see anything. So you wind up walking a strange tightrope in which you have to keep adding invisible light sources, while (a) making sure they don't interfere with one another and (b) making sure they seem to be obeying the rules of reality, even when sometimes they're not.

That sunset, for example. It looks bright, but the file that expresses it—which has real-world sky-light levels encoded in it—is nonetheless not bright enough by itself to properly illuminate the characters. (And if you turn the sky's light up higher, in this case it not only looks fake, but washes all its warm colors out.)

So you wind up having to cheat. The light-from-in-front on Dusty and Lorn is mostly produced by two lights of a three-light "portrait light" rig. That had to be rotated and tweaked repeatedly to imitate the "key lighting" effect I wanted, and to look believable as sunlight, even though it's not exactly in line with the Sun.

And then there's the issue of lighting their backs, which were almost invisible without help. That meant I needed to add another light source behind them, diffuse, but just strong enough to look like it might be due to sunset skylighting coming from behind them. See the little checkered dish thing in the image below? That's it: a so-called "ghost light". It's been instructed to emit light just a touch cooler in temperature than the sunset in front of the guys.

...And having hung up all this hardware, you render it and get the image you see in the top of the post.

(sigh) With that grass. Maybe I'll take another run at that tomorrow.

...What will happen to this image, you may ask? (shrug) Damned if I know. This kind of work simply counts as a Honing My Craft thing, as the more one works with this platform, the smarter one may be able to get at using it.

(I emphasize the "may"...) :)

Meanwhile, that blue Fire's not right either. Which one of them is responsible for it? (Because, post-War, it might be either one of them.) But Goddess knows, that's an old, old story. I've been fighting with it for years... sometimes with very peculiar results.

(sigh) A detail for another day...

#digital art #Daz Studio #Daz 3D #Middle Kingdoms meta

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lcvver · 1 month ago

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𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦

chapter two !

| 𝓘n a secluded garden, Minji seeks refuge from the burdens of her aristocratic life. There, she encounters a free-spirited girl tending to roses, sparking a connection that challenges Minji's understanding of duty and freedom.

princess!k.minji x fem!reader

a/n: This is my first post here (idk if i like this). Sorry for any mistakes, as english isn’t my first language. Maybe i’ll do more chapters of this

word count: 1577

—

The sweet scent of the flowers mingled with the smell of freshly cut grass, and Minji walked slowly along the gravel paths of the garden, trying to escape the weight of the castle. The conversations that still echoed in the halls of the mansion seemed distant now, as if time had dissolved among the tall trees and bushes, creating a fresh, green labyrinth. There was something deep and serene about that place, something she always sought when she wanted to find some peace amidst the endless events and expectations that everyone around her insisted on imposing.

Her attention was diverted by a soft, almost imperceptible movement near the wrought-iron bench where bunches of wisteria fell in purple spirals, touching the ground. There, a figure was crouched, with hands dirty with earth, delicately manipulating the roots of a small rose bush, as if she had a special intimacy with that space. The silhouette was feminine, but the looser posture, less rigid than that of someone in Minji's position, caught her attention.

She watched for a few seconds, more fascinated by the grace with which the girl handled the plant than by her appearance. The figure didn't seem to notice Minji's presence, and in the silence of the garden, she allowed herself to stay there, watching. When the other girl finally stood up, stretching her arms above her head, the late afternoon light played in her hair. Her face wasn't unfamiliar, but Minji didn't recognize her for that reason. She wasn't from her society; she wasn't a figure that was easily found in the halls of her house.

Then you looked at Minji, as if you finally felt her there, and she noticed something that made her hold her breath. There was no shyness in your gaze, but something that bordered on a freedom that Minji had never been able to understand, a freedom that she felt was unattainable for her, the daughter of a lineage of respect and unbreakable duties.

An almost imperceptible smile touched your lips, but it was not a smile of social politeness. It was more like a smile of someone who recognizes an affinity that exists beyond words, beyond the invisible borders that delimited their lives.

Minji should have said something, taken the first step towards a banal conversation, as expected. But instead, she stood still, as if she were faced with an opportunity that she did not know if she should or could accept.

The air felt charged with a silent connection, a thread woven between you in that secluded corner of the garden. Minji’s heart raced; the vibrant colors of the flowers around her seemed to pale in comparison to the warmth radiating from you standing before her. She wondered who this stranger was, this girl who moved with such confidence and ease, as if the world around her was a canvas waiting to be painted.

“What are you doing?” Minji finally managed to ask, her voice breaking the silence like a whisper in a cathedral.

You turned fully to face her, and in that moment, the distance between your lives seemed vast and insignificant. “Just planting a little patch of beauty,” you replied, your voice light and inviting. “These roses will bloom soon, but they need tending to thrive.”

Minji felt a pang of envy at your simplicity, the way you spoke of life and growth without the burden of obligation. “I wish I could do that,” she admitted, her own words surprising her. “I mean, plant something and watch it grow without worrying about the consequences.”

Your eyes sparkled, a mix of mischief and understanding. “Why not? What’s stopping you?”

Minji hesitated, the echoes of her upbringing flooding her mind—expectations, duties, the unyielding path set before her. “I have responsibilities,” she said, almost apologetically. “Things I need to maintain.”

“Responsibilities can be a cage,” you mused, stepping closer, your hands brushing against the leaves. “But they can also be a choice. You decide how to live within them.”

Minji’s chest tightened. The garden, once a refuge, now felt like a stage for a conversation she’d never dared to have. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admitted, your tone softening. “But it’s worth the struggle. Finding freedom in small moments—like this.” You gestured around them, to the flowers swaying gently in the breeze, the sun casting dappled shadows across the ground.

You were silent for another second, each lost in thought. “What’s your name?” she finally asked, her curiosity piqued.

You responded, giving her your name, a hint of warmth in your gaze. “And you?”

“Minji,” she said, the name feeling heavier than usual, laden with the expectations that came with it.

“Nice to meet you, Minji. Come, help me with this rosebush. You may find it more rewarding than you think.”

Minji hesitated, staring at the castle looming in the distance, the weight of her lineage pressing against her. But looking into your encouraging eyes, she felt a flicker of something—a spark of possibility.

Stepping forward, she knelt beside you, the cool earth between her fingers feeling firm and real. “What do I do?”

“Just follow my lead,” you said, your smile lighting up the fading afternoon light. “And remember, it’s okay to let go a little.”

As you both worked side by side, Minji felt the edges of her world begin to blur. With each handful of soil they turned, she felt the beginnings of a new understanding, a whisper of freedom blossoming in her heart. Maybe this garden held more than just flowers; maybe it held a chance for her to redefine her own path, one rooted in her choices, not just her obligations.

With each rosebush they tended, Minji felt a sense of liberation unfurling within her. The rich aroma of the earth mixed with the sweet fragrance of the blossoms enveloped her, creating a cocoon of warmth and possibility. She watched as you demonstrated how to prune the thorns, your hands moving with a practiced grace, as if each cut was a small act of rebellion against the confines of expectation.

“Why roses?” Minji asked, trying to keep the conversation light while her heart raced with the thrill of this newfound connection.

“They’re resilient,” you replied, glancing at her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. “They can withstand harsh conditions, but they bloom beautifully when cared for. It’s a reminder that beauty often emerges from struggle.”

Minji pondered your words. They resonated deeply, echoing the conflicts within her own life. “I’ve always been told that beauty and duty go hand in hand,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “That to be beautiful is to be perfect, polished, and proper.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “True beauty comes from authenticity, not perfection. When you embrace your flaws and choices, that’s when you truly shine.”

Minji felt a warmth spread through her, a mixture of admiration and yearning. “How do you know all this?” she asked, genuinely curious.

You paused, considering your response. “I’ve had to find my way through a lot of expectations too. Just in a different garden, so to speak. It’s a journey, and I’m still learning.”

In that admission, Minji saw a reflection of her own struggles, a shared understanding that transcended their different worlds. “What would you do if you could choose your own path?” she asked, her heart pounding at the vulnerability of her question.

You smiled, a glimmer of mischief in your eyes. “I’d travel, explore the world, plant gardens wherever I go, and meet people who inspire me. I’d find beauty in every corner of life.”

A wistful sigh escaped Minji’s lips. “I’ve always wanted to see beyond these walls, to experience life outside the castle. But it feels like a distant dream.”

“Then make it less distant,” you encouraged, your voice a gentle nudge. “Start with small steps. You don’t have to uproot everything at once. Just find a way to incorporate a little of that dream into your reality.”

Minji considered this, her mind racing with possibilities. “And what if I fail?”

You turned to face her, your gaze steady and reassuring. “Failure is just a part of growth. Every rose has thorns, remember? It’s okay to stumble as long as you keep planting.”

Inspired by your words, Minji felt a spark ignite within her. “Maybe I can start by coming here more often,” she said, a smile creeping onto her face. “To help you with the garden.”

“I’d love that,” you replied, your smile brightening the fading light. “We can create something beautiful together.”

As the last light of day faded, casting a gentle glow around you, Minji glanced at the castle in the distance, its imposing presence now feeling less like a prison and more like a choice. She could navigate her life on her terms, one small decision at a time.

“Thank you,” she said softly, looking at you with gratitude. “For showing me that it’s okay to want more.”

You met her gaze with warmth and understanding. “And thank you for being brave enough to take this step. That’s the first of many.”

As the stars twinkled overhead, Minji felt a sense of hope take root within her, as vibrant and tenacious as the roses they had planted. In that garden, she was no longer just a daughter of duty; she was a gardener of her own destiny, ready to cultivate the life she truly desired.

—

#minji #minji x reader #minji x fem reader #newjeans #kim minji #newjeans x reader #kim minji x reader #lcvver

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