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#young royals score
omar-rudeberg · 2 years
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stop scrolling and listen
this has been a psa that we're getting more original matti bye yr orchestrations in november
ok keep scrolling
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kruemel8 · 1 month
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Whenever I watch again after a long absence of only experiencing the show through gifs it always hits me how powerful and gorgeous the score is 🎵
🎼
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drs295 · 2 years
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Two Scenes, One Score The score is heard in these two scenes only. It's not included in the soundtrack. (season one)
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It's the contrast. The distance. Nighttime vs daylight. Obscurity vs clarity... It's about being hidden and being exposed. It's about an end that could actually be a new beginning for them.
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hillerskalibrary · 1 year
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One week to go to YR week!
Fellow creators, how is it going?
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For those who don't know/forgot: What is YR week? (basic information) More questions about YR week (FAQ) What are the prompts?
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dabookgoblin · 1 year
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I heard season 2 for young royals released so I decided to look at its ratings and I—
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literary-heartache · 2 years
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no bc my true claim to being a die-hard young royals fan is religiously listening to harmony theme on spotify.. like it slaps ok … this show has me on a leash 😭
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seravphs · 7 months
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Act One, Chapter One: half agony, half hope
Knights are bound by duty and honor, but Gojo is more devoted to his princess than he ever was to his oaths.
Main Masterlist | AO3
wc — 10k
tags — royal au, knight gojo, princess reader, forbidden love, ballroom scene, dancing, court politics, blood, minor character death, period-typical misogyny, complicated relationships with fathers, secret meetings, flouting social etiquette by sneaking out to meet your childhood best friend who is also your loyal knight, title from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Next: the beginning of devotion (coming soon)
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He was so still Shoko almost mistook him for a dead body. It was a common misunderstanding in her line of business, but not one she was usually startled by. As a poisoner, legally and officially a herbalist, the occasional corpse on her table wasn’t such an unexpected occurrence. A lord, on the other hand, was. 
Especially if it was him.   
Gojo Satoru wasn’t just a lord. He was the son of the former Hand of the King, the greatest swordsman in living history, and connected to the princess. There wasn’t a man alive who didn’t know the Gojo name. It was synonymous with the royal house itself as the clan that had produced scores of advisors to the king. In nearly every generation, the heir to the throne was accompanied by a Gojo, acting as a living sword and shield. 
But even with that storied history, this one was special. A young man who had risen to prominence during The Silent War, he returned home from hell as a knight unlike any other. The bards would adore him. They already did. 
Most generals earned their titles by leading campaigns. Gojo hadn’t needed one. He turned the tides of the war as a single man army. They had started calling him a grim reaper, a god of death. 
Shoko disliked him on principle, but she couldn’t kill a man like that. They’d have her head on a pike. She didn’t mind the idea of dying so much. What she did shrink from was the idea of dying painfully. 
The princess was known for abstaining from most decisions involving the crown despite being in line to inherit it, but Shoko somehow doubted that she would remain so passive if her favorite knight was murdered. Thankfully, Gojo let out a soft breath to show her that he did remain among the living. 
“I thought you died,” she remarked. 
“Sorry to disappoint you.” 
She said something else, but Gojo wasn’t listening anymore. He was floating through a shapeless world again, chasing that moment. It slipped away from him despite his redoubled attempts to capture it. He remembered the tang of iron in his mouth. Blood spraying in the air, a mist that he could smell and taste. The leather grip of his sword in his hands, slippery with sweat. 
He was trying to win back enlightenment, briefly attained and lost again just as quickly on the battlefield. A feeling of deep and solid peace had settled over him as he hacked through bodies, as if that was what he was meant to do. It should’ve concerned him. He already confused the ever thinning boundary between man and monster. That bloodshed brought him such euphoric tranquility could only mean it was growing worse, but he hated things he couldn’t understand. 
He needed to experience it again. Just one more time, so he could make sense of it. The smell of blood. Wading through the dead and the dying, thigh deep in gore - it was no use. Frustrated, he let it go. 
There was something soothing about the cracks in the ceiling. He stared up at it, letting his breaths come as shallowly as they had while he had been immersed in his meditative state. Shoko’s basement was chilly and dark, but it was necessary for the illegal autopsies she performed at his request. Those, and the poisons she crafted for him, were its primary purpose. It was only a stroke of luck that these qualities were also helpful for his attempts to recover his short-lived state of grace. 
He was tempted to try again, but not today. There was someone too precious to keep waiting if he delayed any longer. He wouldn’t impose upon her the way he often imposed on the elder lords who tried to remind him of his place by pulling rank. While they deserved his spite, she didn’t. 
Even Shoko was surprised by his sudden desire for punctuality. “You’re not going to stay?”
“I have a princess to rescue,” he said. “Dragons to slay, things of that nature.” 
Shoko scoffed. “You are the dragon they have to save princesses from.”
Well, Gojo thought as he hurried down the corridor, she wasn’t wrong. He was sure others agreed with her. He didn’t waste his time with children’s tales anymore, but he remembered his mother’s voice whispering to him in the dark, curled around him in his bed. A dragon was a tool to lock princesses away. His presence deterred anyone from coming too near to his princess, so by that definition, he was most certainly a dragon. 
Gojo found that he was a little proud of himself for that. Thinking of his mother had made him nostalgic. He thought she might be proud too, that he had taken such good care of the princess she herself had looked after. A dragon might trap, but it also guarded and hoarded. He had polished his princess like a treasure, lavishing her with attention until she had become a gem. 
She was beautiful. 
He was a soldier, so he had long since rid himself of the ability to lose his breath, but if he still could, he would’ve choked at the sight of her when he broke past the doors. She was seated so that the eye of anyone who entered the ballroom would be drawn to her first, but he would’ve found her regardless. He had promised. 
Wherever you were, he would always find you. 
It’s difficult to hide, being as tall as he is, but Gojo managed. He didn’t want you to see him coming. Already, he has to bite his lip to fight down his smile as he draws closer and closer. A few more steps, a detour to duck behind some random noble, and he’s in front of you. 
“May I?” You don’t have a chance to speak before he’s already dragging a chair closer. 
The smile on your face doesn’t match the harsh delivery of your words. “The next time you leave me alone with these miserable fools, I’ll order you to fall on your sword.”
Gojo laughs, unfazed. “Good choice. You’re too pretty to get your hands dirty. Although, you are a bit more murderous than expected for a princess.” 
“You try putting up with Naoya’s simpering gibberish for an hour.”
“I don’t have to.” He slips into the chair beside you, avoiding you neatly when you try to trip him. “Watch your feet, my lady. People like me don’t have to put up with Naoya.” 
People like you shouldn’t have to, either. You’re both higher ranking than he is, a princess and a lord each, yet Gojo’s the only one who gets to escape his painful-to-witness affections. 
It’s only natural. A royal dowry comes attached to you. Any eligible man would have to be an idiot not to fight for your hand, but really, they’re vying for a chance at kingship. You can’t go one day without someone reminding you that you’re a physical embodiment of the crown, something to want and own. 
Gojo pours himself water with a heavy hand, bypassing the wine. Watching him sip at it, you realize you’ve actually never seen him drink.
“Come now,” he says, a little softer. “Don’t look so desolate. What will I do if everyone sees you pouting? You’ll ruin my reputation.”  
“You don’t have a reputation to ruin.” 
“Don’t underestimate the things I’d do for the smallest sign of joy from you. Shall I procure one right now to destroy for your amusement?” 
You know he wants you to smile, but you can’t. Even if Gojo can usually pry laughter from you with the ease of a trained jester, this time, your sadness weighs over you like a heavy wool cloak. It’s your birthday, but it’s not a happy occasion. Every passing year tightens the noose around your neck. 
You’re a princess, and that means your life was arranged for you before you breathed your first breath. There’s nothing you can do about it. You’ve never had a choice. 
“Don’t,” he whispers. 
“Don’t what?” 
“Don’t make that face,” he says. “I’d marry you. If it came down to it, I’d take care of you.” 
His words nearly cause you to spill your drink all over your finely embroidered dress. If it set in, it would never come out. He grasps your hand just as the cup begins to tip, saving you. 
“Did you mistake your water for wine?” It’s a genuine question from you. 
He waves his goblet around carelessly. You’re worried he might be actually drunk, but you smell no alcohol on him. He couldn’t get inebriated from just a sip, anyway. Whatever wild whims have overtaken him tonight are entirely of his own design. 
“Better me than Naoya, no? I’d keep you safe.” He cracks a crooked smile in your direction, like you’re sharing a secret. “Admit it. I’d be a good husband. If I were around, you’d be untouchable.” 
He’s telling the truth. If Gojo Satoru was your husband, no one would dare anything with you, but you chase the idea from your mind as quickly as Gojo plants it. You’re your father’s daughter, raised on his practicality. You don’t waste time on pipe dreams. Better the hideous truth than a lie costumed in beauty - the bite of thorns was infinitely preferable to the impermanent fantasy of petals. 
Instead of answering him, you push your plate in his direction. You don’t even have to ask. Gojo dutifully takes your knife and fork in hand to cut up your meat. “Not even going to consider it, princess? I’m hurt. That was a serious offer, you know.” 
“You’re insufferable. Be quiet and eat.” 
Gojo’s mother used to say that the more adamantly someone denied something, the closer to the truth it likely was. You can only hope Gojo doesn’t remember, because she was right. The reason you won’t give him even an inch on the topic of marriage is because a proposal from him is the only thing you want but can’t have. 
Predictably, he ignores you. He’s never known when to quit. With so little that can genuinely stand in his way, Gojo has difficulty understanding the concept of a limitation. You’re both spoiled in that sense, noble children who had never been told no. 
“Think about it,” he says casually. “We’d be invincible. What other house could stand before our union?”
“I said- hello, father.” 
“A little early to be calling- oh, hello, Your Majesty. You look well tonight. Is that a new ring?” 
Your father cuffs Gojo around the ears. “Brat.” 
He’s in a good mood, then. 
“My little girl,” he says to you. “How pretty you look. I’m surprised no one has stolen you away from me yet.” 
You’re not so little anymore, but you forgive him. It’s just the two of you, ever since the queen died. He’s the reason you are what you are, as cultivated as a rose in a greenhouse. The climate that nurtured you is one carefully tailored by his own hand. 
“Not for lack of trying,” Gojo says brightly. 
“Boy,” your father calls him, despite the fact that Gojo isn’t a boy either. A deep sigh escapes his lungs. He looks truly sorrowful for a moment. “You look just like your mother.” 
Gojo’s smile freezes on his face. It’s true, he does. Through him, the king’s former hand lives again, but you know Gojo doesn’t want to be seen as an extension of her, even if he misses her more than anything. 
You’re familiar with the way your father knows exactly what to say to make you feel small again. The king is someone who exudes power. His uncanny ability to pick out what you’re most sensitive to and exploit it makes even the most proud of noblemen revert to children in his presence, as if they’ve been scolded by a nanny for stealing tarts from the kitchen. It’s strange that you feel the need to protect Gojo, the strongest person you know, from that. 
He reaches out and pats Gojo’s cheek now that he’s reduced him to silence. “Enjoy the night, my dear child.” 
When he leaves, Gojo slumps back in his chair with a tick in his jaw. Even if the king is your father, he can’t help himself. “Nasty old man,” he mutters. 
You pinch his thigh beneath the table. “Smile and look pretty.”
“Ugh, who is it now?”
“Lord Zenin and his son haven’t gotten their fill of tormenting me.” 
“Hm,” Gojo says. “I wonder.” 
“If you have a plan to avoid them, hurry. They’re nearly here.” 
“I don’t know,” he teases. “I don’t think you’d like it very much.”
“Yes, well, I don’t like conversation with Sir Zenin very much either.” 
He grabs your hand. “Then you’ll forgive me for anything that happens tonight?” 
“Anything is questionable, but do as you please.” 
He tugs you from your seat, pulling you through the crowd of people. Caught in his wake, you float past faces familiar and unfamiliar until the patriarch of House Zenin and his infernal spawn fade behind you. 
When you turn to face him again, he’s dipped into a bow. His smile is sweet, boyish. It’s as if you’re children again, and he’s stolen you from your lessons to waltz in an empty ballroom, motes of dust that you’ve stirred up floating in the sunbeams. 
He extends his hand, a sapphire burning on one finger. A dragon curls around the silver band of the ring, a nod to his heritage. Though the Gojos are a powerful and ancient house, in this moment, Gojo looks young, foolish, and all the better for it. 
“May I have this dance, my lady?” 
You giggle, wishing you had a fan to pretend to hide behind. You’re playing pretend again, acting as if you’re characters from a storybook.
“I’d be delighted to, my lord.” 
The music swells. Gojo takes your hand and presses a kiss to your bare knuckles. His lips are soft against your skin, temptation incarnate. In his grasp, your fingers tremble slightly, torn between wanting to seize him and wanting to run away. 
You’re terrified by how much you want him. 
If you let him in for one second, you can imagine how easy it would be to never stop. He’s every one of your desires and hopes made manifest, tied up in a single person. Although it’s impossible, you still feel the heat of him. The warmth of his lips linger on you, a stolen moment before he sweeps you up in his arms.
This is how you remember he’s a boy no longer. The breadth of his shoulders is wide. He’s lost the roundness of youth, his face growing angular and cunning. There’s solid muscle underneath your hands as he pulls you with him, his feet beating a steady rhythm that you have to fight to keep up with. 
He’s doing it on purpose, you know, testing how much you still retained all of those years of tutoring. You’re determined to show him they weren’t for naught. 
When you catch your breath and master the music once more, gliding with him rather than being tugged along, he smiles like he always expected you to. He’s been like this since you were young, dangling challenges in front of you that he’s equally as excited to see you pass as fail. 
The music slows. All around you, the frantic steps melt into slow swaying. You’re feeling brave tonight, so you step closer. You allow the arm curled more tightly around your waist, the tender look in his eyes. When you steal a glance around, no one is watching the two of you, but how far can you go before you lose it all? 
“Don’t talk to Naoya again,” he murmurs against your skin. It tickles, and you squirm until he presses so close it petrifies you. “I don’t like the rumors around him.”
“What rumors?”
“Bad ones. He tumbles girls and leaves them with nothing. Hurts them, takes whatever he wants, and ruins their lives. I don’t trust him, and especially not with you.” His hand smoothes over a stray ruffle on your petticoat, the gesture impossibly loving. “Never with you, princess.” 
You shudder at the way he says princess, feeling cut open, exposed. What has gotten into him tonight? You don’t understand. It feels like drowning, your brain always three steps behind, struggling to break the waves of your confusion. 
You know you’re weak. It’s your name that protects you, the threat of your father and the royal house behind you. Alone, you’re a lamb to slaughter. You’ve been spoiled your whole life, leaving you naive and helpless. 
Gojo is someone you trust implicitly. He’s always protected you. You’ve relied on him for as long as you’ve been alive, but perhaps that’s conditioned you to feel comfortable putting your hand into the mouth of the beast. Even at the chance of exposing how poorly you’ve been trained for the court’s schemes, you don’t hold back when you’re with him. He makes you feel at ease to speak freely without fearing how much you’ll reveal of your own vulnerabilities. 
“I can’t,” you tell him honestly. “House Zenin is one of the Three Great Houses. I can’t refuse Naoya without good reason.” 
“Then marry me,” he says softly. “Marry me and be done with all of this. They don’t deserve you, anyway. They won’t treat you like I will.” 
You close your eyes, feeling the telltale hotness of incoming tears burn behind your eyelids. Why did he do this to you? He was so gentle it hurt, even though you knew he was capable of terrible things. Somehow that made it worse, the knowledge that he was choosing to be kind. 
“You should go,” you say instead. 
Marriage between you and Gojo would never happen. Forget your father. An alliance between the strongest house and the royal house? It would be akin to tyranny. There would be blood in the streets before any of the other nobles would allow it. It’s better not to dream about impossible desires. 
Thorns, not petals, you remind yourself. You can suffer the truth. 
“Why?” He says. “I want to stay with you. I want to be good to you.” 
“This isn’t something to joke about, Satoru.” He looks like he’d rather you have slapped him. “Never talk to me about this again. Find someone else to dance with.” 
There. Your brain snags on something to distract you. You’ve been dancing with him for too long. It’ll reflect poorly on your reputation to give an unmarried man so much of your attention. 
“Pick another partner,” you urge him. 
His brow creases. Stubbornly, he holds onto you even tighter. “Don’t want to.” 
“You have to. Everyone will whisper. I’m surprised they aren’t already.”
“Then let them,” he pleads. “It doesn’t mean anything to me.” 
Regretfully, you pull away. Darkness clouds his beautiful face. It’s unnatural. When you remember him, he’s always smiling. The instances when he directs a genuine frown at you are few and far between, but you’ve already made your decision. 
Gojo stalks off in search of a new partner. Somehow, even though you were the one who forced him to leave, your heart stings to watch his back fade into the distance. If you didn’t want him to go, you shouldn’t have said anything. This is what you hoped for. Still, it’s painful. 
You want to find somewhere to rest after your spat, drained from a rare argument with him, but nowhere is secluded enough for you to let your guard down. Suddenly, you feel a wave of hatred for your stupid, glittering palace and the stupid, glittering fools infesting it. You just fought with your best friend and you’re tired, but you still have to keep up appearances. 
Somewhere nearby, Gojo is spinning another girl, her skirts flaring out around them. You wish you could press your palms to your eyes, letting the pressure relieve your headache, but you’ve shown enough weakness tonight. Instead, you tilt your head back and breathe, trying to appear calm and in control. 
It’s a good thing you restrained yourself, because Naoya is the one that finds you. His shoes are the first thing you see, black leather with steel accents. Steel, not silver, because he wants it to hurt when he kicks. 
You know. You’ve heard the stories. 
“Abandoned by Satoru, my lady?” You hate the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. Gojo makes it sound so intimate, like it’s for you and him only. Naoya’s version is a bastardization, much like the man himself. 
You’re too tired to deal with him, and yet, you’ll have to. House Zenin is important to your father and thus, important to you, especially when you inevitably replace him. “What are you insinuating about your princess, Sir Zenin?”
You use the proper address, the way he should’ve spoken about Gojo. They’re not close enough for him to be calling the other man by his first name. 
“Nothing, nothing,” he says. “Don’t get defensive now.”
You want to tell one of the knights stationed around the hall to drag him away. Instead, you smile and let him prattle on. Court politics. If you ever want to prove to your father you deserve everything you’ve been born into, you have to play the game. No matter how terrible some of the players are. 
“Since you graced Satoru with one, I hope you wouldn’t mind another dance.” 
Turning him down isn’t an option, but when you see that everyone’s watching, you realize even more how much it really isn’t an option. He probably arranged it that way too. Demonspawn. You’d curse his house if you could, instead, you offer him your hand, cringing internally when he tries kissing it. 
You can’t help but compare the two. Gojo did it better. 
Like any son of a high born house, Naoya’s a good dancer. It’s the one compliment you’re willing to grace him with, as everything else about him, especially his personality, is hideous. His hand is solid against your upper back, the other leading you as you spin around the room. It makes you want to scrub yourself clean, even under the layers of clothes. 
You’re doing this for your house. Your throne. This is nothing. None of your mantras diminish your desire to shove Naoya’s head in the cake waiting at the banquet table. 
“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” he tells you. 
“Forwardness is unbecoming in a man,” you say with a smile, as if he’s telling you the sweetest nothings. “What would my father say?”
“Don’t play coy, princess. We both know how this ends.” 
“Please excuse me,” you say as soon as the song ends. One is enough. “I find myself rather dizzy.” 
Naoya’s lips whiten with anger. He tries to grab your wrist, but someone steps between you. “Watch your hands with Her Royal Highness, Zenin. I won’t tolerate your disrespect.” 
Naoya’s eyes flash, but the interloper is sweeping you away already. His hands hover above your dress, never actually touching, as he guides you in the opposite direction. 
“Sir Getou, what are you doing?” 
Getou looks down on you in amusement once you’re a safe distance away. “Satoru sent me to rescue you, of course. I didn’t think he was serious when he said you would get into trouble without him.”
“Trouble finds me,” you reply archly. 
“Yes, yes,” he placates, sparking annoyance even though he just saved you from Naoya. “Are you tired of dancing yet, or do you have room for one more? I’m hoping to make an impression on potential wives by dancing with the princess.”
You’re smart enough to know that one more is rarely truly one more, but Getou did save you from Naoya. Besides, if you’re busy with him, no one else can ask for your hand. 
“I suppose I can spare you a dance.” 
Like Gojo, Getou is an adept dancer. He is, after all, a trained court noble, and the sons of House Getou are unusually predisposed to the arts in any case. If the Gojos are known for their strength, the Getous are known for their crafts. 
Getou doesn’t flinch from your unwavering gaze. If anything, he seems to find it amusing, although in the way one would find a puppy amusing. Gently, he leads you around the ballroom. 
“Stay alert, my lady. Someone’s watching you,” Getou warns. 
You follow his gaze to Gojo. There’s a beautiful woman in his arms that takes you no time at all to place, so infamous is her notoriety. Yuki of House Tsukumo is second only to Gojo in her blatant disrespect for everything the elders held dear. 
They make a striking couple. Everywhere they go, heads turn to watch them pass. Her gold to his silver, her lion to his dragon - it would be a powerful match. They would be perfect for each other, if only because no one would be able to challenge each other like they could. 
Excellent dancers each, together they become an instrument for the music to shine through. Getou is gentle with you, each movement as delicate as lilies floating across the surface of a pond. In contrast, Gojo and Yuki dance like they’re fighting, each trying to gain an advantage over the other. They’re magnetic, drawing every eye in the room to watch them. 
Everyone else may be entranced by the pair of them, but the pair itself seems disinterested in the crowd around them. Yuki’s eyes are closed but Gojo-
Gojo’s looking at you. Your cheeks heat with his attention. His stare is intense, eyes half-lidded. Every move is prowling, almost predatory. His eyes remain fixated on your face as he and Yuki move in a complicated, sinuous series of circles. There’s something impossibly filthy about his gaze. It borders on indecency, combined with the way he barely seems to be paying attention to dancing, giving you all of his focus instead.
“We can’t let them steal all the attention,” Getou says. He really is Gojo’s brother-in-arms. “Let’s give them a show.” 
You’ve never been trained in statecraft, but you’ve been given the very finest of tutors in the elegant manners of the court. A show, as Getou puts it, is more than within your capabilities. You close your senses to the rest of the world, focusing on the shift of your skirts and Getou’s quiet voice as your steps weave intricate patterns across the floor. 
He’s a naturally friendly man. It’s easy to talk to him, whispering between each peak in the music. Although he’s friends with Gojo, your social circles rarely overlap enough for you to spend much time in Getou’s company. You’re almost surprised by how much you enjoy it. 
“I think it’s time to change partners,” calls a familiar voice.
As Getou takes the hands of Lady Yuki, her eyes still closed as she sways, someone takes his place. Gojo’s hand slides from where Getou’s were placed appropriately on your upper back down to your hip. You drag them back up, ignoring his pout. He’ll be your last dance of the night. 
“Should I be worried about being replaced?” He murmurs. 
“It was only one turn,” you tell him. 
“And I never want to do it again,” he says. “The other girls don’t dance like you do.” 
He’s an unrepentant liar. You might have been tutored by the best dancers your father could find, but at this level, first and second place might as well be interchangeable. He’s only saying it so you know that he wanted to come back to you, despite the fact that you forced him away. 
Gojo’s a contradiction wrapped inside a paradox, at once sadistic and merciful. No one’s capable of making you feel as much as he does. Without the guidance of formal tutors to give you the education of a prince, you have no idea how to navigate the dangerous world of alliances and betrayals, war and peace. Once, you clumsily blundered through diplomacy, watching your father’s disappointment grow by the hour. You’ve since learned that complete silence is preferable to gaucheness. At least that is something your education as a princess has taught you. 
But Gojo knew you before you grew into the woman you are now. He still remembers how to pull smiles and tears from you, how to push you to the brink of exasperation and coax you into brilliant happiness. He has a key to all the gates you’ve erected. No matter what you do, he always slips past your defenses. 
If you keep letting him do as he pleases, you’ll be the only one who loses. Gojo is a man. If he’s rumored to be attached to the princess, it’ll elevate his reputation. He’s already the best swordsman in the entire kingdom. Being thought of as a profligate would only make them worship him more. People love a little hint of degeneracy to their heroes - not too much to make them immoral, but enough to make them attainable. 
A princess is not a hero. You’re not someone to attain, you’re someone to obtain. When people look at you, they only see the crown. If you’re thought of as a ruined woman, it would prevent you from finding a husband. It would destabilize the entire kingdom. 
It hurts to realize that you’re that selfish. Gojo would’ve chosen you over anything, but you’re letting something as empty as reputation displace him. 
Not that it’s exactly a choice. Your life has been forfeit since you were born. You don’t belong to yourself, but to the royal house. As the only child of the king, you can’t allow yourself any mistakes, not when even the barest twitch of your fingers is scrutinized. 
When Gojo offers to escort you back to your chambers at the end of the night, you swallow down the desire to agree. His eyes are hopeful, mirroring your own expression. It could be like back then, when you were children, running through the halls of the grand palace without a care in the world. Except you know you can never return to the halcyon days of your childhood, before your mother died, before his mother disappeared, before everything went wrong. You try not to let the disappointment on his face bother you when you allow the knight your father sent to bring you back to your rooms instead. 
You attribute the strange feeling you get in the morning to the leftover melancholy of last night. Sunlight trickles across your face lazily, not enough to raise you from your bed but just bright enough to remind you that morning was here. 
You’ve never slept long enough for the sun to warm your face while you were still entangled in your sheets before. The window faces your bed at such an awkward angle that the sun has to be high in the sky before it can light across your pillows. 
Usually a maid wakes you by now if you aren’t up already. Where were they? 
A gentle knock at the door only makes you more apprehensive. It can’t be Utahime. You know the sound of her steps. The pacing is stilted, awkward, as if whoever was behind the door was nervous. 
“Hello?”
“Oh, princess!” Definitely nervous. Not a voice you can recognize. A new maid, perhaps? But why would they-
The door bursts open. You scream as a cloaked figure lunges at you. She throws herself on top of you, trying to pin you to the bed so she can run you through with the knife she has raised in her left hand. 
She’s crying. “You weren’t supposed to be awake!”
Crying and angry. Fluffy white down bursts into the air, obscuring your vision as she stabs a pillow so brutally it vomits its contents. She’s not very good, which explains her terror. Unfortunately, you aren’t very good either, and you’re pinned underneath her. Thrashing doesn’t work - at the very least, she’s stronger than you, if badly trained. 
When she finally immobilizes you, she has a growing bruise over her arm from a terrible punch you had thrown, trying to mimic the way Gojo does it. Keeping your thumb outside your fist was all you remembered, and it went wide. You barely managed to hit her, and it came with a cost. She snags your wrist and pins it down. 
The knife plunges towards you. It’s rusty, which terrifies you almost as much as the implement itself. If by some miracle you survived, you’d be at risk of infection. 
Blue eyes flash before you. In this moment, an inch away from death, you wish you had gotten to say goodbye to him. Fear robs you of rationality. You don’t know anything but that you want to see him one more time and feel the warmth of his embrace. 
“Princess, it’s okay. I’m here.” 
You crack an eye open. The girl is no longer visible. The only person leaning over you now has white hair and the characteristic Gojo eyes, impossible to fake. You decide you must’ve died already. This is heaven, where your wishes have been granted. 
Gojo pulls you up. His hands are warm and solid. Vaguely, you realize that you’re trembling with the same nonchalant distance that you would use to catalog the color of the pillows. 
“You’re not dead yet.”
“Did I say that out loud?”
He chuckles. His thumb is rubbing soothing circles into your palm. “No, I could just tell by the look in your eyes.” 
“The girl…”
“Dead.” 
You scramble to the edge of your bed and peek over. Sure enough, she’s lying in a pool of her own blood. Her throat has been cut so surely her head is nearly separated from her body. 
You gag. 
“Wait,” Gojo says. He kneels to tear off her cloak and holds it in front of you. “Here, princess.”
You don’t want to give in to your queasiness, especially not when he himself is so stoic, so you shake your head. More insistently, he pushes it towards you. 
“It’s only natural,” he soothes. “I’m used to this. You’ve never seen a dead body before.”
“Just come here,” you say weakly. “No, actually. I’ll come to you.” 
“Give me a second,” he says, dropping to his knees. Under the bed, he retrieves your silk slippers. He slips them onto your feet gently, standing when he’s finished with his task. 
Obligingly, he waits as you gingerly step over the girl. When your slipper threatens to dip into the red stain spreading across your floor, he simply grabs you underneath the armpits and lifts you over it. 
Even though it’s a horrific scene, you can’t look away. Her face is frozen in a still mask. Bile fills your stomach. Gojo gently turns your head in another direction with two fingers, the touch delicate. “Don’t look.” 
“I think I’m going to be sick.” 
“I told you not to restrain yourself,” he says disapprovingly.
“You’re not- you’re-“ You can’t figure out the right way to finish your sentence. “Does it really get that easy?” 
His laugh is short and brutal. “Easy? I didn’t even think about it. All I know how to do is kill. I don’t mind it, for you.” 
You shake your head. There’s nothing to say, with a body between you and blood pooling around both your shoes, but still, your heart aches. You had known him when he was a boy. It would always be hard to see him with calluses where once his hands had been chubby and soft. 
He chucks you under the chin, the gesture fleetingly affectionate. “Don’t be so despondent, princess. I’m glad to do it. That’s what knights are for.” 
Knights and maids, all meant to lay down their life or other lives for you at your convenience. Utahime was too loyal to have let an assassin into your chambers by choice. Your breath catches. It concerns him that you’re teetering into upset again, just when he’s calmed you down. 
“Satoru, is Iori-“ The thought is too horrible. You can’t finish it. 
“She’s not dead,” he says. 
Noticeably, he doesn’t say that she’s alright. 
Utahime will be scarred forever. They found her slumped at the bottom of the stairs, her body dumped unceremoniously after they stole her from outside your bedroom. A massive gash opened her right cheek up, crossing just slightly over her nose bridge. 
You almost can’t bear to look at her. Not because her scar makes her hideous - far from it. Utahime will always be beautiful to you. The scar is only a reminder of how you’ve failed her. 
You’re a princess without any power.  All you can do is fuss over her after the fact, unable to change the past. 
“Princess,” she hisses, jerking away from you for the third time in as many minutes. “You must stop! I’m your lady-in-waiting, not the other way around.” 
“You got hurt for me,” you say, hands balled helplessly at your side. You refuse to touch her more aggressively, for fear of aggravating her wound. The bandages wrapped around her cheek are an ever present reminder of how much she’s sacrificed for you. So are the whispers. The looks. She holds her head high, acting as if it doesn’t bother her. 
“I was glad to do it. I didn’t want to be shipped off to some far away baron anyway. Be grateful,” she cracks a smile you don’t feel. “I certainly am. At least I could still join the church, if anything.” 
Why do the people around you insist on destroying themselves for your benefit? 
“You don’t need a baron.” Loyally, you vow, “I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.”
“Be careful, my lady. Some would take that as a marriage proposal, and then I’d have twice as many death threats.”
“I’d protect you.”
“You, princess? I doubt that,” Gojo calls. 
You’ve been watching the knights move in and out of the arena from your vantage point on the royal balcony, but very few of them have dared to address you, much less speak to you so casually. They’re all too focused on the tourney you’re set to watch this afternoon. Only he would be so familiar with you and so unconcerned about the sparring, knowing his chances. 
Utahime lets out an aggressive sigh with no regard as to whether or not Gojo could hear her. In fact, she’d probably prefer it if he had overheard. Gojo, for his part, ignores the chance to antagonize her for once in his life in order to focus on you.  
“You know, my lady, I’ve heard an interesting rumor going around.” 
You walk to the edge of the balcony and peer over the railing. Utahime gasps in fear and grabs onto your petticoats, afraid that you’ll tip over the fencing. “Go on, Sir Gojo,” you say. 
“If a fair damsel grants a knight her favor, he’ll fight ten times as well. Twenty, even. And all the more so if it’s the princess, who everyone knows is the fairest in the land.”
Unwillingly, a smile twitches to life upon your lips. “Is that so?”
“Won’t you grant your most loyal knight a token of your affection?”
“Don’t,” Utahime gripes. “What has he done to deserve it?”
A scrap of pale blue fabric flutters in the light breeze, reminiscent of doves. Gojo catches the ribbon you’ve loosed from your hair, his fist enclosed in armor. He brings it to his lips for a chaste kiss he can’t place upon you. The entire time, his eyes are on yours, searching. 
“I’ll win this whole thing,” he says. “I’ll defeat every knight here for you.” 
The trumpets blow, calling the contestants. He’ll be wanted. Utahime shakes you lightly as he leaves your sight. “Get yourself together,” she says sternly. 
“But mama, I love him!” You joke. 
Her frown can’t last in the face of your teasing smile. She fixes the lace on your sleeve and collar, though they’re hardly ruffled. She can’t help herself. It’s her second nature to dote on you. 
“Ah, my princess,” she sighs. “You worry me.” 
You poke her uninjured cheek, trying to get her to smile. “It’s not me. You worry too much.”
Another voice cuts in. “I feel the same way sometimes, my dear Lady Utahime, but I trust no one more than you. Her mother left her to your capable hands, after all.” 
Your father has arrived. Utahime smiles as the king kisses her cheek, but you can’t. You know he means it lightheartedly, but it galls you all the more that he says it so blithely. When your mother fell ill, Utahime had been the one who took charge of looking after you. 
Not your father. 
Not your only living parent, the man who was supposed to feel all the closer to you for your loss. Instead, he pushed you away. 
You knew you weren’t being fair. 
The king had been wracked with grief over the passing of his beloved wife. Along with his other royal duties, he couldn’t possibly have been expected to watch over an infant as well. You know better than anyone the toll the crown takes on a man. Stewardship of this land asks a heavy price. It’s not an easy role. 
No, you can’t blame your father for choosing the country. It’s his duty, as it is yours.
You only wish it hadn’t been Utahime’s burden to carry instead. She was just a few years older, a child still when she had raised another child. In many ways, she had been a mother to you. Only now that you’ve grown older than she had been back then do you understand how much responsibility she had accepted at such a young age. 
Your father turns to you. “Are you enjoying the tournament?”
“It’s barely started. Only the squires have been jousting. We haven’t seen any of the real knights yet.” 
“Those squires will become knights themselves one day. Watch carefully, and you may discover a treasure worth keeping.”
As he speaks, you finally find someone worth watching, as if your father only had to say it to cause it to happen. A boy with rosy hair lunges towards his opponent. He disarms him and forces him to the ground - only to offer him his hand in exchange.  
The other squire hesitates. Doubt crosses his face. Finally, he accepts the proffered hand like someone expecting an attack at any minute, but all the other boy does is pull him to his feet and dust him off. He’s more honorable than most of the knights of the realm you know, too focused on humiliating their opponents to flaunt their own glory. 
Your father doesn’t notice your distraction. He’s still speaking. You bring yourself back to the conversation just in time to hear him say, “Sukuna, the King of the Curses.”
“Sorry?” You laugh. 
“It’s no laughing matter, I’m afraid,” your father says gravely. “He’s the ruler of the Western Kingdom, the land where the sun never sets. Perhaps he’s grown tired of his arid land and seeks gentler climes, for his invasions have earned him the title ‘King of Curses’.” 
Utahime’s lip curls in disgust. “King of Cruelty is more like it. I’ve heard of what he’s done to his prisoners. That man has no honor.”
“None,” your father agrees, “and yet it is necessary not to antagonize him. We are small if prosperous. We can’t afford it.”
Utahime looks as if she wants to speak, but she holds her tongue. She’s always been good at navigating the court. Trained under her, you wait as well. Taking your cues from her is something you’ve done since you were a child.
“Yes,” your father says, his eyes distant. He’s ruminating over something he won’t share. “He can’t be provoked. The representative he sent us for this tourney must be carefully attended to.” 
That representative, Uraume, doesn’t fight like any knight you know. Their sword is wider than most of those found in your country, and half as tall as a man. Precision is lost in favor of brutality. They wreak havoc with the brutality of a butcher, tearing through the ranks of your best and strongest. Of course, he’s not the only strong fighter. There are other knights to watch as well. 
“That Lady Tsukumo is doing quite well for a woman,” your father notes in surprise. “What prodigious talent. I don’t think her house has produced a fighter like that in years.”
“She’s better than half your knights,” you remind him. “Lady Tsukumo already defeated most of her bracket.” 
“Yes, yes,” your father laughs. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I’m simply admiring her.” 
As the day progresses, clear victors emerge in each division of the tournament. Uraume is one of them. Gojo is another. 
They placed him against Getou for his penultimate match, knowing the crowd would go wild for a contest between not only two of the best knights of the realm, but sworn brothers. Although Getou is better than most, Gojo is more of a natural disaster than a real, human adversary. At the end of their round, Getou smiles even as Gojo brings him to his knees. 
The next round is even more hotly anticipated than Getou and Gojo’s. 
Gojo strides into the center of the arena with the classic arrogance he’s known for. He delights in riling the crowd up. They cheer louder and louder on each circuit he laps around the arena on his silver stallion, pale as moonlight. By the last, they’re nearly delirious with passion for him. 
Uraume has no such pretenses. They’re a cold creature, as frigid as they come. 
It matters not. Gojo beats them so easily that it can only be described as disrespectful. He rides past Uraume and thrusts the hilt of his sword into their stomach with such force they fall off their horse. Gojo dismounts casually. He hadn’t even used his blade. He flips Uraume onto their back with a boot and steps onto their breastplate, pinning them in place. His sword hovers underneath their chin, a whisper away from death. “Yield,” he says pleasantly. 
You, remembering your fathers speech about Sukuna’s chosen representative from that morning, glance to the side. He’s smiling as gently as ever. Underneath his cloak, where only you and Utahime can see, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles have turned white. 
After the match, you recognize one of the men rushing Uraume off to be one of your father’s most trusted advisors. He must be doing damage control, but then again, when is he not when Gojo’s around? 
Your father stands, as composed as if he had never been upset in the first place. You envy that self-control. You’ve always aspired to your father. In your eyes, he was the perfect ruler - perhaps because he was the one who taught you what a ruler should be. 
Gojo waits in the center of the arena. He’s beautiful as always, as fierce as an avenging angel. There’s a fine sweat beading at his temples in a way that makes you want to wipe it off with your handkerchief, but you abstain, knowing thousands are watching. 
Gojo has no such scruples. 
When it’s time for him to be awarded his laurel crown, he kneels - not to your father, but to you. A gasp rises from the crowd. You stifle your own shock. Here, where every sign of weakness is clearly visible and easily taken advantage of, you can’t reveal that this wasn’t planned. The royal family’s control over its retainers must appear immaculate - even if Gojo had always been uncontrollable. 
Wordlessly, your father passes you the laurel. You know something is brewing. He can only tolerate Gojo’s outlandish behavior so many times. But this isn’t the place to worry about your father’s incumbent wrath, so you take over the duties of honoring the victor. It’s easy. You’ve seen your father do it enough times to be able to replicate it in your sleep. 
Gojo rises from his knees, a hungry smile on his face. “I told you I’d win.” 
“That you did,” you reply noncommittally, trying to figure out how you’re going to discreetly get him out of the arena without your father attempting to try him for treason. 
He frowns. Knowing him and the type of maneuvers he’s likely to pull, you put a respectable amount of distance between the two of you as you mark his brow in gold paint. 
When you grasp his hand to lift his arm into the air, he presses something into your palm. Years of sharing secrets and playing pretend at espionage have trained you not to flinch. When you lower your enjoined hands, you slip the shred of paper he’s passed you into your pocket. 
People are cheering. You notice with warmth that he looks heroic, like he’s stepped right out of an old legend. Your father doesn’t seem to agree. 
Arguments between the two of you used to be few and far between, but lately it seems like you can’t do anything right. You’d forgotten what it was like to retreat to your parents’ bedroom for a scolding. It hadn’t happened since you were a child, yet here you were again, studying the fabric of the draperies to avoid eye contact with your father, just like you had when you were younger. 
“He wasn’t trying to be disrespectful,” you start. But that’s not true, and you know it. So you try again. “He wasn’t trying to cause problems. He cares about the kingdom, father. He was just trying to show off his - our - strength.” 
“Gojo is a liability.” How easily your father casts him off, marks him as defective. He’s always been like that - clinical in his appraisal. You lacked that precise, indifferent ruthlessness. You’ve tried. 
“He’s a good man, a good knight. House Gojo has always been loyal to us, father. Remember his mother? Remember Sorashi? She wouldn’t want you to treat her son like this.”
Your father flinches. First comes sorrow, then, anger. “Don’t speak to me about Sorashi.”
“You can’t just pretend like they never existed! Sorashi, my mother-“
“Child, you are testing my patience dangerously.” 
You fall silent, hating yourself for it. Always a child. Never someone worth listening to. 
“You don’t understand anything,” he says more gently. 
“I don’t understand anything because you won’t tell me anything!” 
“You’re a princess,” he snarls. “You’re not supposed to know anything!”
You reel back, stunned. You had always been afraid that this was how your father truly felt. 
“You have no sons, so it’s me or no one else.” Disgust fills you at the fear in your own voice. Weak. Pathetic. After all these years, the lessons your father gave you still haven’t sunk in. Perhaps he’s right, and you’re not fit for the throne after all. You’re still begging for what you want instead of demanding it like it’s what you deserve. A prince wouldn’t act like this, but you’re not a prince - only a girl who was never taught how to rule. 
He throws up his hands in exasperation. “I didn’t say anything about sons. See, you’re too young and inexperienced. This is why I won’t let you in yet. You’re not ready to rule.”
“But I will?”
He gives you a wan smile. He’s tired. Guilt seeps through you. These days, all you do is fight. You miss the times when it felt like you had worked together. At the end of all of it, you love your father. You hate that it’s been like this. 
“All in time, my child. I love you, I really do. But you’re not ready.” 
Mutiny curls under your tongue. You’re not ready because he waited too long, hoping for a male heir until your mother died. By then, it was too late for you to catch up on years of lessons you should’ve had. Regardless of what he says, you know how he feels. You were never the one he wanted but-
He’s still your father. When he reaches out to stroke your cheek, a peace offering, you close your eyes against his hand and don’t give voice to your treasonous thoughts. It’s nothing to suffer the humiliation of your status for a while longer. You have all the time in the world to earn your place. 
Your father is right, in the end. You can be patient. 
Back in the privacy of your room, you unfurl Gojo’s note. Gojo’s mother had him trained in elegant cursive that he uses for formal documents and letters. In his messages to you, it degenerates into chicken scratch. It’s a lucky coincidence that it’s all but unreadable to anyone else, making it a code only you can decipher. 
The gardens at midnight. - S. 
Only a place and a time. Is he trying to tempt fate? 
You indulge in the idea of not going, especially since things are already tense with your father. All the way up until the hour you need to leave, you let yourself believe it’s not happening. It’s too risky. People are already suspicious of you as it is. The minute passes, and if you go now, you’ll be late, so you won’t. 
You grab your shawl with a huff of annoyance. You’re going. You were always going to go, from the very moment you got the note. 
You aren’t used to sneaking through hallways you usually glide through. There are several close calls as you make your way closer and closer to the gardens. Multiple times, you’re forced to make a run for the nearest door or drape to hide behind. 
You’re barely two feet away when you’re finally caught. A hand slaps over your mouth before you can scream as someone tugs you into a dark corridor. You kick and lash out, forgetting everything Gojo has taught you in favor of blind violence. 
“Shh,” comes a voice in your ear. “It’s just me.” 
You bite him. 
He hisses and pulls back, shaking out his hand. “What’s wrong with you?” 
“Why would you do that? You scared me!” 
“You’re not careful enough, princess. Did you even notice the maid coming up the left hallway?”
Admittedly, you hadn’t. It’s lucky that he was there to save you. 
Gojo has always been there to protect you. The tension bleeds from your body. You sigh and lean into him. You can’t help it. 
He laughs. “Are you that happy to see me?” 
“If you don’t be quiet, I’ll show you exactly how happy I am.” 
“Come on,” he tugs you out towards the gardens. It’s dangerous, but you follow him anyway. Being with Gojo is so threatening not despite his strength, but because of it. You rely on him too easily, trusting him to see you safely through any peril. His very presence is the promise of security. It makes it too easy to relax when he’s with you. 
You expect him to tell you why he called you here, but he remains silent when he tugs you down on the bench next to him. “Satoru?” 
“Here,” he says, opening his hands. A single crushed violet sits on his palm. You raise it to your eye. It’s all the more fragrant because it has been mangled, the delicate petals bruised to release the scent into the air. 
Gojo’s mouth lifts in a smile. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize.” 
“You really know how to win a girl’s heart,” you tease. 
“Hopefully I know how to win over her father’s too.”
You freeze. 
“If not marriage, then knighthood. Let me be yours, in whatever way I can have you.” 
“You have me,” you tell him. “You always have.”
You don’t know how to answer such devotion. Besides the obvious political ramifications of being wedded to Gojo when your marriage is meant to be a bargaining chip used for the sake of your kingdom, you don’t want it. Not like this. 
Gojo has been your dedicated shield for so long, the two of you have forgotten a life where he wouldn’t give up everything to protect you. He’d do anything for you - even that which he should hold sacred for himself. His very body is littered with scars that he’s received on your behalf. How much more can you take from him? 
Does Gojo really want to marry you or does he want to protect you? Will he play the part of the devoted servant for the rest of his life? 
“You don’t have to…” You realize you don’t know how to say it. Or that you don’t want to. Selfishly, a part of you can’t bear to release him from the oath he gave you when you were children, though he couldn’t have known. Neither of you could have understood what it meant for him to kneel at your feet and swear his life to you. It had all been in good fun, the way children understand things. “I don’t want you to- Oh, Satoru. You don’t owe me anything. You’ve done enough for me.” 
For a second, your imagination plays tricks on you. The cobalt of his eyes kindles into a terrifying flame, like the lightning in the town he hails from. It’s as if the draconic blood his ancestors claimed still lives within him. 
He continues as if he hadn’t heard you. “I’m going to ask your father tomorrow. I want to be your dedicated knight; I won’t wait any longer. I’ve waited enough.” 
His pushiness feeds your annoyance. You cling to it, preferring it to the dreadful hopelessness inside of you. The right thing is not always the easy thing. Gojo deserves his freedom after wasting his youth on keeping you safe, yet letting him go feels as difficult as willingly driving a nail through your hand. You want to cling to him forever, reassured by his strength. 
“Don’t,” you say, trying to sound firm. 
“At the ceremony,” he says determinedly. “When he gives me captainship in the army. He’ll have to say yes if I ask him then.” 
“Satoru, please-” Your voice wobbles embarrassingly, and you have to pause. Silently, you beg your tears not to fall. The way he disarms you is humiliating. You turn away, but Gojo understands. Years of watching after you has taught him a lot. He bandaged the scrapes that you refused to cry over and avenged your honor after you pretended your pride hadn't been hurt. He can see right through you. “Please don’t.” 
You see the frustration on his face. He’s not a man used to holding himself back, and yet he does. 
“It’s alright,” he says. “We can wait.” 
It’s just another number to add to the tally of favors you owe him. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be my guard,” you say in a small voice. “I just-” 
“I know. Though I do think the king will ask me anyway, so this is all pointless.” He looks away. “I just wanted you to- Nevermind.” 
“Really?” Doubt colors your voice. 
“I’m the strongest. Who else would your father ask to protect you but me?” 
“He doesn’t like you,” you point out. “No, he does, but it’s a very begrudging like. I don’t get it.” 
It makes you smile, thinking about the way your father can’t stand Gojo but won’t allow anyone else to speak poorly of him. He’s still a Gojo after all, no matter how much trouble he causes your father, and your father loves Gojos. The royal house has always held their house dear. They had been close for decades. Always, they were something to the other, no matter what form that something took. 
“There you are,” Gojo murmurs. His fingers trace the arc of your mouth. “So pretty.” 
You glare at him through tears. “And whose fault is it that I cried?” 
“Your father’s?” 
You scoff. “You see? This is why he doesn’t like you.” 
Gojo looks at you seriously. “I’ll get down on both knees and beg him for it if I have to.” 
“Don’t do that,” you gasp. 
“I don’t care,” he says. “You’re what’s most important to me. More than pride, more than honor.” 
You look at the crushed violet in your hand. 
Who else but Gojo? 
He breaks you down so easily. You press the flower back into his palm. “I know you’ll do what’s right.” 
His eyes soften. He leans closer. 
“Gojo,” comes a voice. “What are you doing in the gardens this late at night?” 
You stiffen. The owner of the voice is drawing closer. 
“Do you trust me?” Gojo asks, as cool and collected as ever. 
You nod, fearing your voice will give you away. He cups your face in his hands and ever so delicately presses a light kiss to your cheek, tilting his head towards you. Does it look like a real kiss from afar? Did he mean it to? 
“Stop,” he tells the man behind you. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll scare her.” 
“A new plaything?” Asks Yaga. “I’m not so scary, am I?” 
Gojo notices you tremble harder as the voice registers. Lord Commander Yaga is close to the King. As the captain of the kingsguard, he could ruin everything.
Gojo lifts a hand to the back of your head and presses it gently towards his shoulder, obscuring your face. He pulls you towards him, arranging your legs around his waist. A soothing hand traces a warm path up and down your back. It calms you as much as it shames you. You’ve never been this close to any man, not even him, and now you’re cuddling only for the sake of protecting your secrets. 
“The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is a terrifying man, or so I’ve heard,” he says casually, as if the two of you aren’t trapped in an extremely compromising position. As if your father wouldn’t demand his head on a pike if Yaga realized who it was. 
“Just escort her to her room when you’re done,” Yaga says gruffly. “I don’t need to tell you to be a gentleman, do I?” 
“No, sir,” Gojo says cheerfully. 
That night, you breathe a sigh of relief. Yaga gave no sign he recognized you. He acted as if he normally would upon encountering any soldier of his on a late night escapade, profoundly disinterested and deeply desirous to get away. Only in the morning do you begin to doubt your deception. 
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ultra-violet-heart · 4 months
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Fanfare for Frieren (a fan translation)
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This is the English fan translation of Fanfare for Frieren (奏送), the accompanying short novella for the opening theme of the Frieren anime, Yuusha by Yoasobi, written by Jirou Kiso with the supervision of manga writer Kanehito Yamada. The images here are from its print/digital version, which has been a bonus from the special edition of Frieren: Beyond Journey's End Volume 12.
Disclaimer: This translation is made by me for fandom purposes only. This unofficial translation is not affiliated with the official Frieren franchise or with Yoasobi. All rights reserved for Frieren: Beyond Journey's End to its respective committees, committee members, staff and rights holders.
Please ask my permission and credit me+this post if you will be re-translating this to other languages. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THIS OR ITS IMAGES TO OTHER SITES. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE ESPECIALLY ON YOUTUBE AND TIKTOK. Please take the fan translations here with a grain of salt. 
I'm posting my Ko-Fi here as currently, I've been having financial trouble regarding my medicine, so if anyone can donate, I would be much grateful for the help, thank you very much.
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1.
Five years after the death of Himmel the Hero.
Central Lands, the Capelle [1] Region.
A small city, commonly referred to as “Music City”, was located not far off west of the Royal Capital.
Many renowned musicians, who had established the foundation of court music, went there to study, and they each created orchestras there which continue up to this day. Day and night, orchestral and operatic performances kept theatres crowded, and these performances were well-known in the Central Lands.
The hymns that could be heard from the church also evoked such amicable ties between culture and religion. The singing voices and the performance, both tranquil and powerful, were pleasing to the ears.
There’s unexpected magic in places like this, huh, Frieren thought while walking through the streets with light steps.
She couldn’t visit this place during her journey to defeat the Demon King, but she thought it would have been nice to have taken a detour on the beginning. The journey started from the Royal Capital to the east, she recalled with a little regret.
To that extent, the city was much of a beautiful and isolated place.
The cobblestone pavements reminded one of a flowing music score, while the radial houses reminded one of a well-organized orchestra. The entire city had this atmosphere of welcoming people, so that there was music there for people to listen to.
There might be a wealth of music-related magic in this place. She wasn’t particularly knowledgeable when it comes to music, but folk magic rooted in a distinctive culture was worth collecting for that reason alone.
Following the signboards that were shaped like sheet music and musical instruments, Frieren continued walking.
Just near were an opera house and a museum adjacent to it, and the sound of some rhythm coming from somewhere.
Various sounds overlapped the whole city, however, strangely enough, there was no cacophony at all.
Suddenly, among those sounds, one of the most awkward sounds caught her ear. The timbre sounded like it was carefully walking on ice.
Apparently, a small marching band was passing by in front of the church located in the city’s center. The boys and the girls were preparing for their practice that day, carrying brass instruments too big for their stature and with more percussion instruments than their hands could handle.
A boy wearing a red feathered military hat―or rather, was made to wear one―had this desperate expression as he continued blowing his horn, unconcerned about his reddening face.
Even though from a very young age, all this city’s people had been living together with music.
The sound the boy made while carefully holding the horn, which was said to be the most difficult instrument in the world for humans to play, was not the clearest at all.
However, sometime in the future, that sound will reverberate gallantly and kindly.
Frieren felt it was a timbre suitable for the city.
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Frieren continued to walk, as if the small orchestra was pushing her back.
The rustling of leaves, the gurgling water of the fountain, the happy hubbub from the cafeteria. All the sounds of nature and the noise of daily lives here and there gave the impression they were all pleasantly tuned.
It might be said she could stay in here for years while exploring the city thoroughly.
In one corner of the city, there stood an old-looking music store. Its appearance, reflecting its long age, made it stand out.
For some reason, she entered the store. It was a place she wouldn’t normally stop by, but her feet were strangely drawn into it.
Beyond the store’s creaking door, however, a strikingly different but still atmosphere hung about.
Beautifully polished wind instruments. Stringed instruments without a speck of dust. They were placed on a cramped space, lined like capillary vessels. The store’s appearance made it feel like one could hear the breathing of the old craftsman running the store alone.
As she searched for a narrow foothold and was about to head deeper,
“You.” A voice said. Frieren felt it was a matured voice that carefully aged over many years.
An old man, whose white hair was tied up clumsily, peeked out from the back of the store. His sleeves were still rolled up, as if he was still tending to his instruments a short while ago. She caught a glimpse of the old man’s muscles, which were well-toned for his age.
“You… seemed to have lived a life unconnected to musical instruments.”
Adjusting the monocle on his eye, the old man fixed his gaze on Frieren.
“How can you tell?”
“Because you are a face I have not seen before. Those who love music and those who are loved by music will have visited this place sooner or later.”
The old man asserted his words with such sincere belief.
“Those who love music will immediately be obsessed with the instruments here. Those who are loved by music are people my eyes immediately recognize. So, yes, I can tell. Will you let me see your face?”
And then he beckoned her to come closer.
“My, my, I am surprised. It seems like you are the latter.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your ears, the corner of your eyes, your features. You appear to be an elf.”
“I am an elf, but…”
Frieren didn’t immediately catch the drift of the conversation.
“I have something I want people like you to have.”
After saying, “Wait for me,” the old man turned on his heel and took out a small wooden box from the back of the store and opened it. Inside was a palm-sized ocarina-like musical instrument.
The instrument’s intricate design was obvious even to the untrained eye.
“This is the Möglich. [2]”
“Möglich?”
“Its other name is ‘the Impossible’ [2]. It’s an instrument said to take a hundred years to master.”
“I once heard the horn is said to be the most difficult instrument in the world for humans to play.”
Frieren replied, recalling the boy from the marching band earlier. She remembered him struggling to play.
“That is a topic for ordinary humans. This instrument, however, was originally made by elves. You seem to be unaware of this.”
“That’s right. I didn’t know. Though it’s not strange if some elf did invent something like that.”
Frieren knew some of her own kind who spent so many years just killing time. [3]
“My great-grandfather inherited the Möglich, and he analyzed its structure. Apparently, it is impossible to produce a sound with this instrument unless they continue infusing in a small amount of mana while maintaining a perfect equilibrium. It would take more than ten years to produce a proper sound on this instrument. Fifty years is not even enough for an experienced mage to play one tune with it.”
“Really?” Frieren replied vaguely, not making it clear whether she was interested or not.
“I heard after one hundred years of diligently studying it, the sound one can play from this instrument is unparalleled.”
In fact, the old shopkeeper spent his life trying to master it. However, it was impossible for him to master the instrument as he did not possess any magical power. He could not even make it produce a sound.
“There is yet no one who has mastered it, much less know how to play it, so this instrument is still for sale, waiting for a buyer.”
The instrument had this eye-popping price tag. It was an amount that could already buy a house, and there was no way Frieren could afford it, not with the travelling-expenses-money she had on hand.
Of course, Frieren had no intention to buy it.
Certainly, it was rather interesting a fellow elf spent part of their long life in the form of developing this musical instrument. What kind of elf are they? Why did they give it to humans?
Most likely, she felt that this might be no more than a prank. It was an instrument that made sounds that could not be produced within the very short, fleeting lives of humans, after all.
“I am here because I want to hear the Möglich’s melodies one day. I have long sought for that timbre no words can describe. For so many years, this whole time. I eagerly awaited any who loved music or is loved by music to come here and finally fulfill my wish. It might be an impossible dream now, but I feel the guidance of the Goddess is at work that I am able to meet you, an elf.”
“I’m sorry, but…”
“I have no need for your money.”
“I can’t pay, then.”
“I want an elf like you to have it.” The old shopkeeper said with a strong tone.
His eyes held no arrogance on them, as if he was pushing his impossible dream onto someone else, but instead were filled with unadulterated hope.
“………”
After some hesitation, Frieren replied.
“If there’s no other buyers, I’ll think about it. This should be bought by someone who should own it though.”
“I see… Come back. I am sure you will.”
“I’ll be back. I plan on staying here for a while.”
The old man, as if to remind himself, called out to Frieren as she was about to leave.
“What is your name?”
“Frieren.”
“What a fine name. A name loved by music.”
2.
The dusk was casting its shadow over the city by the time she left the music store.
Frieren felt how the city’s tune changed between day and night.
Unlike the bustling daytime and the soundless midnight, the comforting evening was like a soft breeze caressing her cheeks.
Let’s have dinner, Frieren thought.
During the time she traveled with Himmel and their party, Himmel always decided where they would eat. He had this exceptional ability to find out any restaurant that had what Frieren and the others wanted without them telling him what they were in the mood to eat.
How did you know? She once asked him at the dinner table.
“You all have this way of showing what you’re thinking on your faces.”
Himmel smiled as he said this.
“Heiter’s face now has the color of a ditch.”
Eisen took a glance at the drunkard next to him.
“What?!”
Heiter looked back at Frieren, his face looking like an undead. He was so dead drunk he couldn’t tell the difference between Eisen and Frieren.
“You reek of booze.”
Frieren kicked him while Himmel laughed.
“Frieren, you see, I enjoy nothing more than having a meal with the four of us like this. I choose the food every one of us like as I want to make sure we all have a good time.”
She recalled wondering even then if it was the answer to her question.
She then looked at the restaurant now in front of her and thought it had the same appearance and atmosphere as the one from that time.
This restaurant, called Parlante [3], was such a calm place it was like it was not her first time entering it.
“What did Himmel like?”
Thinking back, Himmel always ordered his food last. It was often a different dish from theirs, or he would choose a dish that was easy to share between the four of them.
After that, he would portion out his food little by little, share that, and say, “Isn’t it more fun to have a variety of dishes at once?”
They had eaten around the table in as many places as she could remember. They partook of seafood when they were in coastal towns, they ate wild greens and hunted game in campgrounds, and they particularly were fond of each region’s local specialties.
“The food that can only be eaten in the place you’re in becomes a shared memory with the people you went in with. Even if you forget, you’ll remember again when you go there and eat the local food. That’s how I want to travel.”
Frieren remembered them talking about this one day, so she then called the waiter.
“Is there any dish you can only eat at this restaurant?”
Would Himmel be surprised to find out she had started thinking like that? Or would he laugh and say, “It’s written on your face,” as if he had already predicted this would happen?
The waiter flipped carefully through the menu pages.
“Our specialty is the l'oeuf omelette [4], made of ten chicken eggs. This dish has four servings, so shall I bring you a quarter of that?”
“No, I’ll order it as it is. If I can’t finish it all, I’ll have the rest on take-out.”
This dish, which was loved by well-known musicians, was bigger than expected and took up a large space on the table.
The evening for one person went on, her recalling that lively dinner table she once shared with others.
3.
It has been a month since she stayed, but she had been so distracted by the magic tool shops and the cityscapes, she wasn’t able to fully explore the small city.
Every time she passed the music store, however, the old shopkeeper would enthusiastically call Frieren’s name.
It had become routine for both of them to exchange small greetings.
It wasn’t particularly a trouble to Frieren, but somehow, she felt like going somewhere a bit different for today.
Not far off the city center, there was a street lined with monuments of musicians. Some were well-known, but others were unknown to Frieren.
At the end of the line, however, she found a rather out-of-place statue.
It was a bust of Himmel holding a violin. It was probably commissioned by the time he was travelling alone in neighboring countries after the Demon King’s defeat.
“He was here, too…” Frieren muttered unconsciously.
His eyes were closed, but his facial expression on the chin rest conveyed such a strong will. This must be the work of a skilled craftsman. One could tell a lot of time was spent making the statue. The finish it had was unique even among the more than one hundred types of heroes’ statues.
“So, he could play such a musical instrument.”
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She muttered those words to herself, not wanting anyone else to hear, but from behind her came an unexpected response.
“It’s just as Master Himmel said.”
When Frieren turned around, she saw the speaker was an old woman. There was quite a gap between the woman’s voice, which was quite youthful, and the woman’s elderly appearance. The woman continued with a well-projected voice.
“Might you be Lady Frieren?”
“……?”
For a few moments, Frieren couldn’t understand the words directed at her.
“What do you mean?”
“Master Himmel said that when he came here before.”
The old woman, using skillful vocal acrobatics, reenacted her and Himmel’s state during that time.
“One day in the future, a mage named Frieren will visit this city. I want to make a statue that will serve as a landmark for her.”
“A landmark? Won’t everyone just stop in front of Master Himmel instead?”
“I’m sure they will. But I’m also sure they’ll recognize her immediately as she gazes at me.”
“Is that how it is?”
“Yes, it is.”
The old woman cleared her throat once, ending her little performance. Frieren felt it was strange, given the woman was surprisingly good at imitating voices. She was then told the woman was a former star performer at a circus troupe. It was no wonder that the woman’s voice carried through strongly.
“My apologies for the late introduction. My name is Flöte [5]. I got too excited at meeting you, Lady Frieren. This is embarrassing…”
Her cheeks blushed, a complete change from moments earlier when she was still acting with different voice tones.
“I witnessed a good performance.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Flöte smiled like a blooming flower.
“It seems like the statue was worth making.”
“Master Himmel lamented the statue wasn’t enough to convey his charm to the public.”
“Himmel would probably say that.”
Frieren then wiped the rust off the bronze statue’s flowy hair with a rag she carried.
“If only there was a ‘spell that removes rust from bronze statues’, this clean-up would be easier.”
“Let me help you.”
“It’s all right. I can do it on my own. So, why did Himmel say that?”
As all the rust was wiped off and the statue’s smile returned, the old woman answered Frieren with a mysterious look on her face.
“I have a favor to ask of you, Lady Frieren.”
She said it so apologetically that Frieren got an anxious expression.
“…What’s the reward?”
“A grimoire with the ‘spell to record sounds in a book’.”
At that point, Frieren broke into a smile.
“All right, I’m in.”
4.
“So, you want to dispel a spell that will not dispel until the caster dies?”
Frieren asked again, repeating the old woman’s words.
“That’s rather difficult. Nearly impossible, even.”
 “’I’m sure Frieren will do it’, that’s what Master Himmel told me before.”
“That’s absurd.”
“I’m also embarrassed to say… I am the caster in question.”
“I’m not getting the situation. What do you mean?”
“I ought to speak in order, then.”
 As the old woman said this, she began narrating her personal history.
Flöte was not born in the Capelle region, but in a family of mages, and her parents moved to the area as they hated the horrors of war, and there they established a magical circus troupe. She didn’t originally want to join the troupe, but due to the education she received, she was able to use various magic spells back then.
One of those spells was the ‘spell to erase one memory until death’. It would be a terrible spell if abused by others, but the spell was restricted so that it can only be cast on oneself.
There were many rumors about its effectiveness, which were never true. Some people said it reminded them of the moment of death where one’s whole life flashed before one’s eyes, while others said it meant like being buried in eternal darkness.
In any case, it was a mysterious kind of magic.
One day, when she was 15 years old, having mastered the spell at such a young age, she then cast it upon herself.
Since then, Flöte had lost that one memory, even until now.
“In short, I want to dispel that oblivion spell I casted upon myself.”
“What memory did you erase?”
“That’s the thing: I don’t know. I did erase it, after all.”
With downcast eyes, she connected her words.
“However, I began to wonder if I did lose something important on a whim, especially as I grew older and get closer to death. If, due to the heat of the moment, I buried that memory I shouldn’t have lost with the magic spell I learned, at least, I want to remember what it is before I die. I’m sorry, you might think of this as a selfish request.”
The old woman finally spoke in a voice appropriate for her age.
“When Master Himmel was in the city, I got an opportunity to tell him about it. He then told me about you, Lady Frieren. That Lady Frieren is sure to do something about it.”
Observing Frieren carefully, the old woman then appealed to her.
“Please, will you grant my request? I want to spend the little time I have left, which will pass in the blink of an eye, without any regrets.”
The old woman spoke eloquently, but Frieren didn’t reply, seemingly getting lost in her thoughts.
She walked through the city after, letting time pass, and when night came, she booked a room in a tavern.
Late at night, when the tavern earlier filled with cheerful music finally went quiet, the events of the day came to Frieren’s thoughts as she leafed through the pages of her grimoire.
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5.
“This journey must have been a blink of an eye for you,” Himmel said.
The comment came as perfectly natural as picking vegetables in the market.
“I’ve almost died so many times, but now that I’ve made it here, everything feels so nostalgic.”
After the Demon King’s defeat, Himmel continued on as he rode the shaky carriage back to the Royal Capital.
“Frieren. I know you don’t think of this as nostalgic yet, but the day will come when you remember this journey, us, and this moment. I don’t know when that will be. Maybe after I die. Even so, I’m sure you’ll be able to laugh and say, ‘That was a silly journey, wasn’t it?’”
“It’s too early for the serious talk! We haven’t truly defeated the Demon King until we return home!”
Heiter continued to tease them while smiling.
“Well, we still have requests to fulfill.”
On his return to the Royal Capital, Himmel received many requests. He took on small tasks to help people, fixing roads, even searching for lost things.
Their current request back then was from the village undertaker, who asked them to eliminate a monster that only reacted to human corpses.
When asked for more details, the undertaker said there was a dragon blocking the only bridge that connected the village and the town. Since the dragon damaging the area only occurred when corpses were carried away, it was concluded that the dragon had the tendency to target only corpses.
It didn’t respond to scarecrows, and pretending to be dead didn’t work on it either. Since it only paid attention to real human corpses, Frieren guessed it might have eyes that could detect whether a person is alive or dead.
“I’ll act as bait.”
Himmel spoke resolutely, as he always did.
“You just defeated the Demon King, and you want to die here?” Eisen said. “Stop being reckless!”
“Even Eisen, who doesn’t die even if he was eaten by monsters, is useless this time, huh.”
“Heiter, shut up.”
Frieren looked at the two badmouthing each other and then asked.
“Can’t we just borrow a corpse?”
“We can’t do that, Frieren.”
Himmel continued, as if to admonish her.
“A dead person is the image of a life lived fully. We can’t recklessly put that in danger. Besides, even if I’ll be acting as bait, I won’t truly die. Frieren, you can put me in a state of suspended animation, yes?”
“A state of suspended animation?”
She once casted the ‘spell to encase a living creature on ice’ on a ferocious enormous fish. Himmel must have that time in mind when he said this.
“Are you sure? If I make a slight mistake, you’ll truly die.”
“You can do it, right?”
“I don’t know.”
Frieren shrugged her shoulders and…
“Just do it this time. You’re capable of it, after all.”
“Go for it!”
Heiter and Eisen happily cheered.
“I don’t know what will happen.”
Himmel stood on top of the bridge as Frieren took out her staff.
“Frieren. Fire at me.”
A flash of mana concentrated on the staff’s tip then enveloped Himmel. The air around froze, and Himmel quietly collapsed.
Soon after, a very large shadow appeared on the bridge. A dragon came on sight. As it circled the sky above, it went straight at Himmel, as if it had set its sights on him. Its piercing eyes and the sharp claws it brought out now loomed nearer.
Facing that, a large swing of the warrior Eisen’s axe violently exploded.
A heavy, dull sound echoed throughout the area.
White smoke and cold air blended, then wafted away as if they were thawing. One could see that Eisen was the last one standing.
Frieren then promptly used the ‘spell to warm up the skin’ on Himmel’s cold body.
Regaining his breath, Himmel smiled at Frieren with a reddened face.
“See? I told you; you can do it.”
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6.
Frieren snapped her grimoire shut.
“The ‘spell to erase one memory until death’, huh.”
The next day, as the morning sun rose, the city became slowly filled with sound.
Frieren woke up on the hard floor far from her bed, and with bed hair she went to Flöte’s house.
It was to put a theory into practice. This was a drastic measure, but in Frieren’s opinion this measure would work.
“Lady Frieren, good morning. Did you find out anything?”
The old woman’s voice seemed refreshed.
“You’ll have to die.”
“Huh?”
“That’s why I’ll put you into the state of suspended animation.”
“……”
There was a moment of confusion from the old woman, then silence. However, after a while, she looked like she had made up her mind.
“Please. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
As soon as she heard those words, Frieren gently raised her staff.
“Lie on the bed. I’m starting.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes, indeed, but are you all right with this…?”
“I’ve done it once before. I can do it.”
“If Lady Frieren says so, then it will be all right. Please do so.”
The spell Frieren casted on the old woman enveloped the latter’s body, and for a moment her body stiffened.
Soon after, however, the old woman’s body regained movement, just like how coloring paint flowed when dissolved in water. She then wore this childlike expression, showing a trace of the young girl she once was.
“How are you?” Frieren asked shortly after. “You technically have died once, so your memory should be back.”
“Hahaha… I was worried like a child…”
The old woman seemed to have recovered her lost memory.
As an adolescent, she didn’t want to join the magical circus troupe. Instead, she yearned for a particular musical instrument.
“The Möglich, the instrument said to take a hundred years to master…”
She strongly yearned for it, but it was too expensive, and she could not spend a hundred years on it, so as a child, she thought she could just forget it existed.
So, she sealed that memory instead. She put the lid on that unattainable wish and began to live on reality.
“I’m glad I remembered… I’ll put my life on the line even if it takes years before I reached my dream, and I’ll start learning from now on.”
“I see. Then, you should have that instrument.”
As the Möglich was an instrument which used magical power to produce sound, without doubt, it would be a good match for Flöte, who was a mage.
“I’ll tell the music store shopkeeper. That there is this customer who has wanted it for a long time.”
“Oh, no. Are you truly sure?”
“I want someone who loves music more than me to have it, you see.”
“Thank you very much. Lady Frieren, I cannot thank you enough.”
“I get rewarded anyways, so…”
“Yes, you’re right.” The old woman took out a grimoire from her bookshelf. “This is the grimoire with the ‘spell to record sounds in a book’. I’m ashamed to say I have already recorded various sounds in this book…”
Flöte’s eyes went downcast as she said this, just like when she and Frieren first met.
“It sounds like a strange hobby, isn’t it? As it was routine for me to travel to various places as part of the magical circus troupe, I had a lot of once-in-a-lifetime chance encounters, and I wanted to preserve them in some form. The local people and the sounds from nature became my source of support. Among these are the recordings of my meetings with Master Himmel.”
“This isn’t a strange hobby. Himmel would have said the same.”
Frieren said she would return the grimoire when she finished reading it, then left the room.
On the same day, Frieren went to Restaurant Parlante, which was now a completely familiar place for her, and ordered an omelette. When she went to bed with a full stomach, she then opened the grimoire the old woman gave her.
Just as Flöte said, the grimoire had sounds from various ages, places, genders of people… some of them were sounds from nature, some being the noise of daily lives.
“You… you look familiar.”
Was this how the old music store shopkeeper sounded like when he was younger?
“I’ll have the ten-egg l'oeuf omelette, please!”
The voice of a very well-known musician continued.
“This time, I’m thinking of starting a marching band in this city.”
“One day in the future, a mage named Frieren will visit this city. I want to make a statue that will serve as a landmark for her.”
She heard Himmel’s voice as she turned a page. His voice was a bit different from the last time she met him, but it was still Himmel’s voice from her memories. It felt nostalgic, too.
And she realized that Flöte’s voice imitation before was a bit exaggerated.
“Please pose quickly! You’re just holding a violin…!”
This was probably the heartbroken cry of the craftsman who made that Himmel bust.
It seemed like Flöte, as a young girl, followed her interests and recorded these sounds from the various places she went, and the chance encounters she cherished. Frieren could just imagine how she looked like during then.
“………”
It might not be a bad idea to retrace that journey with everyone, she thought, looking at the east towards the Royal Capital.
In the end, Frieren decided to leave after staying in the city for around three months.
When she said goodbye to the music store shopkeeper, he excitedly said, “Flöte loves music and is loved by music.” He said the old woman mastered producing sounds on the Möglich at an extraordinarily fast pace, something that would have normally taken ten years.
After all, it was appropriate for those who should own it to have it.
As she was preparing herself to leave with these thoughts in mind, a marching band passed by in front of the tavern.
The boy playing the horn had grown taller in a short time, and his hat now fitted him better. His fingers holding the horn now had calluses on them, and his blowing on it sounded less labored than before.
The sound was brave and gentle, but eventually became grainy.
A celebratory fanfare sounding like a parade salute echoed on Frieren’s back as she left the city.
(END)
Translator’s Notes:
[1] Written as カペッレ in katakana. I decided to translate it as “Capelle”, as the word means “the private orchestra or band of a prince or church”, which is a reference to the marching band in this short novel.
[2] Written as メークリヒ in katakana. In German, “möglich” means “possible”.
[3] Written as パルランテ in katakana. “Parlante” means “a piece of music to be sung or played in the style of a recitative”.
[4] In French, "l'oeuf" means "egg". In short, this word is just a fancy term for "egg omelettes".
[5] Written as フレーテ in katakana. In German, “Flöte” means “flute” or “whistle”.
[6] Frieren was most likely thinking of Milliarde, an elf friend of hers who first appeared in Chapter 69.
245 notes · View notes
cho-aaacho · 3 months
Text
(HC's) Bocchan Boyfriend! Gojo Satoru
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Masterlist
Tags : Soft Gojo, Melancholy Gojo, Violinist Gojo, Secret Love, Forbidden Love, Backstreet, Boss/Employees relationship, Showering together, Kissing, Gojo is madly in love with you.
A/N : Bocchan means "Young Master."
You two have known each other since you were little. Because your dad is a head butler at the Gojo Clan. You've been living in Gojo mansion since you were three.
Although he was raised as a wealthy, old-money, and spoiled cute little boy, but he treated you better than he did to anyone else.
Perhaps because you are the only person of the same age in the mansion as him, or he just feels lonely?
He enjoys playing the violin, and he has a practice room. When you catch him playing the violin, you may see a different expression on his face. Serious, melancholy, with delightful finger motions.
He'll sometimes let you judge his performance, identify a few flaws in him, and then invite you to his music room. You'll be sitting on his favorite couch, listening to his violin performances.
His favorite instrument is Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake.
He loves afternoon tea, and you are the only person he trusts to take care of everything: tea leaves, sweet macarons, and cake. Don't worry; he has you!
Reading books by the window is also his favorite thing. His bedroom is on the second floor, so when you're in the garden, you can see him there, bathing in the rays of sunshine. Caresses his sweet silver hair.
He reads two books a day and spends like 4 hours reading them.
He wears a ring matching his two best friends, Suguru and Shoko. He also introduced them to you, saying they were the best things in his life.
When test week arrives, you'll often find him sleeping in an unexpected location, such as a kitchen table, living room, or fountain, because he enjoys studying and doesn't want to miss out on his school scores.
And you will approach him, covering his body with a blanket, you don't have the heart to wake him up.
"Thank you for always supporting me. I don't know what would happen to me if you didn't lend me your hand."
"You've been nice to me since we were kids. We aren't family at all, but you and your father are better than the Gojo clan itself."
"I always love your tea, and I don't want anyone else to replace you! Promise me you won't stop making tea for me."
"I've just realized the reason I'm still living in this mansion is because of you and your father. I hate this family and its hierarchy system. They always force me to do something."
Your relationship with him is more intense when he realizes that he's in love with you. Not only does he enjoy your tea, cake, and the way you treat him every day, but he loves you because you make him feel free; you make him view things in a new light. 
It's because of you.
"During all those times I was acting as just your friend, in reality, I had wanted to get closer to you."
He loves to hug you while you make tea, and he would say, "Keep holding me tight."
Secretly loves to kiss you. Kissing you while you are asleep, watering the flower, cooking or anything else.
Sometimes when the head of the Gojo clan is not around, you'll sleep with him and cuddle.
...or maybe showering together.
When the head of the Gojo clan learned of your relationship with his heir, he separated you from him and transferred you to another Gojo mansion in a different prefecture. 
Although you didn't want to leave Gojo Satoru behind, you accepted it. Because you are just you, after all. You will never be his.
He didn't know about that; initially, he thought that you had left him because you were bored with him or because you were already married to someone else.
He forces himself not to believe it, filling his head with the thought that you were studying abroad. But the head of the Gojo clan makes it worse by telling him a lie about the reason why you left.
"They already have a good life, Satoru. After all, they don't come from a royal family like ours. Just forget about them."
It hurts him, to be honest.
When he learns the truth, he goes insane and punches everyone and everything in the mansion. He threatens his father and the rest of the Gojo clan.
"Do you think I'm a rag doll that you can play with? I have a right to choose someone in my life, not you. You are not me, and I'm not you!"
"Let us exchange these rings, forget about everything, and run away. I'll throw my Gojo name."
He couldn't stop himself from hugging you when he finally found you. He pouring his sadness and longing into your presence. Despite his sadness, he tried his best to act strong.
But when you say, "Welcome home, Bocchan," he cries aloud.
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Hey... I just want to say thank you for following this "boyfriend" series! I might be adding more characters in the future.
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tiredmoonslut · 1 year
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Okay I’ve got my thoughts together now, and honestly, Young Royals season 2 is a prime example of how consistency makes for a much better story than shock value, or surface-level drama. Season 2 was literally packed to the rafters with angst and teen drama--but not a single bit of it felt contrived or over-the-top, because it was a completely natural progression of what the first season established. Every character made mistakes, or did things that had unexpected ripple effects--but the choices were consistent with their characterization, and it made the entire story cohesive. 
Wilhelm gets aggressive when upset---especially so when it involves Simon, so him pulling a fucking rifle on August doesn’t seem out of place, as hugely dramatic as it is. Sara is neurodivergent and has issues with expressing herself the way she intends---so her lies and secrecy don’t read as uncharacteristically villainous or vindictive, despite how negatively it affects the people around her. August is human, and capable of things like kindness and affection, but he’s always been self-serving and manipulative, so his actions this season don’t confuse the storyline. The writers behind YR are clearly interested in telling an actual, organic story that develops naturally--and doesn’t rely on shock reveals and sensationalist plotlines to tell that story. It’s really incredible, and the soundtrack, score, cinematography, and amazing actors just pull it all together. I can’t wait for Season 3.
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lovelykhaleesiii · 6 months
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Respectfully requesting an Aegon fic ♡
A couple weeks ago we were having a conversation about chubby Aegon and I threw this idea at you -
I'd love to read a story where reader is short and super slender, and people have told her that it's unattractive for a lady, that she needs to get thicker to be able to bear children for the king. And when chubby King Aegon sees her for the first time he's like "she's too sweet and precious, I want her as my queen".
Would you be willing to write something like that? Love you ♡
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Existence of a Woman.
PAIRING: Chubby!King!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader
WORDS: 2,156.
WARNINGS: bullying, mentions of low self-esteem, misogyny, fatphobic comments/references, body contrast/size kink if you squint.
A/N - EZ I love our little convos, seriously you have no idea how happy you make me 🤍 this was an absolute pleasure to write xoxox hope you love it! and same to nonnie, I’ve just meshed the two incredible ideas together!!!
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It was sheer anguish, having constantly been surrounded by the disheartening commentary regarding your own body. A body you were born and had grown into with much appreciation everyday for your vital health. A body that had no lesser value than the bodies of other ladies and women alike, and yet, yours was frowned upon relentlessly.
You may not have naturally had the adequate width of child bearing hips, nor the lustrous curves in all the right regions. Your breasts may not have been voluptuous enough, that your mother often worried if you would even be able to produce the Mother’s milk to provide for your own babe.
To make matters even more frustrating, you were in constant comparison and competition with your elder sisters. Their bodies, their curves, their bosom, in contrary to your own, had been approved since their maidenhood had struck. Praised by your own mother, your sisters were ignorant to the constant scrutiny you had endured for so long.
Bickering words from the ladies of the court, from your very own kin, were ruthless enough for bloodshed.
“You are far too slender my dear, and far too small to bear a child to full term. Eat, my dear. Are you certain you eat?”
“You must look promising for your husband, dearest. Or else he may have no desire nor purpose for you much longer… Women like yourself are often tossed aside, becoming a burden to their families.”
“The Gods have blessed your sisters with such elegance and beauty… Mayhaps, your spurt is somewhat delayed. Continue to do your prayers, and the Gods may be merciful.”
It was the endless scrutiny that made it unbearable to exist. You had tried many times to grow oblivious to such comments, yet counting your long, dull days, the voices grew louder and louder, more prominent as you reached a mature age to marry.
“Just as your sisters are, we plan to have you wed before the Winter. Although, be warned your sisters being older will come to priority first. Mayhaps we might be able to spare one year for you to, uh, ripen.”
Nonetheless, when your family had unexpectedly been bestowed a welcoming invitation to King’s Landing to attend a royal celebratory feast in honour of the name-day of their elder, royal son, Prince Aegon the Second, your family humbly yet more so keenly accepted. In a matter of days, your entourage assembled and necessities readied, you were on your way to the city: although this being your second trip, you could barely string a memory to thought, as you were only just a child the first time around.
Now a young woman of age twenty-and-one, despite your sister's enthusiasm, you shared no high hopes of scoring a marriage with any decent man willing to look your way. Far more keen to sight-see the city in all its glory, and with a memory you could reminisce...
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"Your Grace, it was an absolute honour receiving your invitation for tis evening's feast. I do hope our Prince has been enjoying himself-"
As your father lavished King Viserys with excessive compliments and many thanks, you could not help but eye each respective Targaryen sat atop the high table. The Dowager Queen, earnestly holding her sickly husband's hand in support, as she bobbed her head in acceptance to your father's words, further down the line, Princess Heleana oblivious to the crowd before her, too enamoured by some black stone or item in her hand, whilst Prince Aemond sat beside her vividly scanning the entire room, looking beyond the foot of the table where you stood. Prince Daeron's seat, you had assumed, empty, the youngest Prince mayhaps amidst the crowds, seeking entertainment and company. Although, it was Aegon who had ultimately caught your attention...
He was no doubt different to Prince Aemond, much larger and plumpier in size, nonetheless, still handsome [he was after all, a Targaryen]. Unlike his younger, menacing looking brother, whose jawline was distinguishable, face chiselled and figure slim and poised: Aegon's features were disguised with a softness, his jaw hidden beneath a subtle layer of fat, his cheeks reddened and full, it did not help that his mouth was constantly occupied with food and wine, as he gorged and guzzled the delicacies before him. As he sat back momentarily, wiping the food residue of his soft-looking lips, a portly belly that appeared rather tight against the restrictive fabric, bloated mayhaps, as the Prince tried to stifle a burp. An electrifying twitch twinged between your inner thighs, as Prince Aegon tenderly patted his distended gut, almost in a prideful manner.
"Aegon, dearest, show your guests the same regard and thank them for making the long trek," Alicent sternly indulged, as she persistently called for her eldest son. Aegon, although reluctantly, devoured his last bite, before heaving himself up with blatant difficulty, walked towards your centre.
"This is Aya, my eldest beauty and very diligent.. This is Sarra, she's got a rather wonderful melody, and isn't she just a sight for sore eyes? And this is Laila, quick witted, she'll keep you on your toes although a belle of the ball. Might I add, all unwedded! Pray the Gods be good, they grace our daughters with a potential hand..."
"And who are you?" Aegon abruptly interrupted, as your mother halted in her speech: her blatantly pathetic attempt to sell her daughter's hands. And although she did not acknowledge you, this had not been the first incident... You had grown accustomed to being invisible. Her cold words burnt into your mind;
"Standing beside your sisters, you might as well not be there... You must understand, dearest, your time will come. Just not now."
A faint, exacerbated breath escaped your lips, as your mouth hung loosely agape. Uncertain if the young Prince was glaring solely at you.
"Uh- th-this one? My youngest... Your Grace."
"Yes, the one who's existence you so obviously ignored," Aegon firmly proclaimed, earning a low, taunting chuckle from his younger brother [who continued ogling the crowd onwards], even drawing Helaena's attention unto him. However, his mother, Queen Alicent, rolled her eyes in defeat, whispering Aegon's name faintly towards him, almost in encouragement for him to settle.
"Apologies your Grace, our youngest is rather quiet and shy, although-" Your mother began to resist speaking, thickly swallowing her words in silence. Her cheeks instinctively flashed red, in exchange to the puzzling, glaring eyes of the royals, bashful against their hushed judgement.
"Th-This is Y/N, my Prince. Our youngest daughter."
"And is she wed?"
The swiftness of how haste Aegon enquired about your marital status, freakishly made your heart flutter, your rather ravenous stomach churning with uneasiness.
"N-No, your Grace..."
"Good-Good."
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Aegon had finished sparing your tongue-tied mother further embarrassment, as she was meekly led by a servant to your table. Although, it seemed Aegon was not yet done with you...
An instinctual gut feeling of a pair of prominent eyes burned against your head, and despite your timidity to decipher who, your curiosity overtook... Mayhaps you overestimated your ability to gain someone's attention.
With intense anticipation and raw shock, your wavering attention was met with Aegon's brutal gaze. As his pudgy finger traced over the blunt edges of his goblet, a sly smirk brewed across his ample face, his focus still fixated directly unto you. And although you had initially struggled to reciprocate the same, unnerving attention, you naturally sought comfort busking in his holistic notice.
A few seconds passed, before an unfamiliar servant called upon you, whispering that you follow his lead into the royal gardens, under direct command of Prince Aegon. You had no apparent need to excuse yourself, as your mother now returned to her usual, collective self, flouncy in talk with other keen mothers, of their aspirations to wed their daughters, whom too were far too immersed in spying and gossiping over which young, unwed lords they would sought, you managed to sneak off subtly.
The crisp, chill of the night air was refreshing, inhaling the floral scent looming over the garden, ridden with a diverse range of captivating, flora species. Slowly striding towards a rose, fearful you would frighten the flower shut, your hand lightly grazing over the soft petal. You had never seen such a vividly red colour, vibrant even in the shadow of the night. Your thoughts silenced, easing into a peace unlike anything you had embraced before.
"There you are-" A disruptive, deep voice loomed from behind.
"I've been meaning to catch you... W-Who are you, my sweet Y/N?"
"Y-You honour me, your Grace. I-I hate to disappoint, although I am just a simple-minded, country girl. The youngest, as my mother insisted, I have come to honour your Grace... That is all there is to me."
Aegon took a stride closer towards you, a chubby hand, meaty fingers tightly adorned in golden bands, rested atop his swollen belly, caressing his pudgy flesh clothed beneath.
"No, no you did not listen to me, sweet thing... I said, tell me who you are."
Inhaling a rather gratifying breath, for what felt like the entirety of the night, you spent in the solace company of Prince Aegon. He devoured your every word intently, as he keenly did the prized hog that was relentlessly prepared for his name-day feast.
Although your truth saddened him deeply, Aegon was rather gentle with you, taking a keen interest in your story.
"You need not listen to what they tell you, dearest Y/N... Your beauty is one blessed and favoured, by the Gods themselves. They surely took their time with you... They do say envy is a green-eyed monster... I know, I am merely a stranger to you now, but I speak only the truth... You will come to know this."
Come to know this... His comforting words echoed through your wondrous mind.
In return, it seemed Aegon too, shared a rather eerily, unfortunate fate to that of yours, with his own family. Although he was the eldest, and the son King Viserys had so desperately prayed for, he was cursed to disappoint since his birth. Often reminded and outweighed by his failures, his larger weight did not help his cause. Born a larger babe than the rest of his siblings, he too, naturally had a ravenous appetite than that of his younger brothers. It somehow brought shame to his family, irreparable, Aegon refused to change.
Now having met you, he selfishly felt comforted... He was not alone in being solely judged by his appearance.
"Do not fret, Y/N. Your existence goes beyond that of child-bearing and sufficing a man. A man ignorant to your kindness and affections, is a stupid man indeed."
Whether it was a buried confidence now seeping through, or by some divine push, you gracefully succumbed to the urge that plagued your mind lustfully, since eyeing Aegon's soft lips closely. Your lips crashed against his, the bittersweet taste of red wine lingered over his mouth, as he too embraced the exchange. It was a solid, passionate kiss, your breaths growing denser, before breaking loosely apart, your noses grazing over each other tenderly, foreheads pressed against one another. Taking your hands in his, his thumb stroking over your soft skin, you felt more at ease than you did at home.
"Rest assured, Y/N. I will marry you, I will save you the torment your own family inflicts upon you. You do not need to suffer in silence any more. You will say yes, and prove them wrong, if that is what you desire... I will love you, all of you. I will make up for all the lost years, all the years you did not need to hear such vile things. I will protect you."
Hot tears swelled your eyes, yet not out of anger, nor frustration or agony. For the first time, you felt intense joy. Nodding in solid agreement, you promised Aegon to be a dutiful, loyal wife in return. One that did not care if his waistline grew or shrunk, one that did not judge a person by scales.
"In return, your Grace, my beloved. I will cherish the life you have granted me, and in return, I will do everything I can to return the favour and more... I love you, Aeg. May this name-day be one that you remember with a warm heart."
"This name-day, Y/N, is one I have dreamt of for all my life. Finally, the Gods have blessed me, gevie ābra [beautiful woman], one I will take great care in. If it is not obvious, I am quite full... Do not be frightened, I will not break you."
"Aeg- That is the least of my worries... In fact, I don't mind this-" You cheekily tease, innocently poking at his round gut, provoking a growling chuckle from your betrothed to be.
"If I'm being honest, I find it quite... Invigorating."
"Is that so?"
general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1
Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @bucknastysbabe @jawline-of-steel
credit for dividers - @/firefly-graphics
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queer-ragnelle · 8 months
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Excalibur (1981) | Directed by John Boorman
Arthurian Film List | Arthurian Show List | Movie review below the cut ⤦
Star rating: 10/10 Content warning: multiple rape scenes, heavy gore throughout, elements of horror, nudity, animal brutality (horses in battle are treated roughly) Overview: Writer and director John Boorman understood the assignment. It's evident this film was a passion project. Both of his children are in it (his daughter as Igraine, his son as young Mordred) and he had been working with J. R. R. Tolkien back in the 70s on an adaptation of Lord of the Rings which fell through, and much of those elements were revived and put to use here. The script, acting, score, and cinematography meet the epic demands an Arthurian film requires to succeed. Synopsis: The film opens with Uther before he meets Igraine and goes on to detail the entirety of Arthur's reign and life. Arthur's beginnings with Ector and Kay are very sweet and culminate in his pulling the sword in the stone and meeting a fun, quirky Merlin. The wizard trains Arthur up and he's eventually knighted by Urien and makes an ally of him while defending Leodegrance and Guinevere's castle. Arthur falls in love with Guinevere and intends to marry her, but first meets and battles Lancelot, wins his loyalty, and sends him to pick Guinevere up for the royal wedding. Meanwhile Morgan learns magic from Merlin and uses it to conceive Mordred with Arthur. After the royal wedding, the love affair between Lancelot and Guinevere begins. While staying away from Camelot, Lancelot meets country bumpkin Perceval, who follows Lancelot back to Camelot from his secluded woodland home, then takes up the mantle of Gareth Beaumains by working for Kay in the kitchens and champions Guinevere against Gawain until Lancelot can arrive. After the affair between he and Guinevere is found out, Lancelot runs off mad into the woods, and Arthur's prosperity declines. Perceval begins a decade-long quest in search of the Holy Grail to restore Arthur/Fisher King's health so he can reclaim his lands now ravaged by disease. Mordred has grown up in this time and been taught by Morgan to hate Arthur. Once Arthur has been cured, he goes to find Guinevere in the abbey where she had been living, and retrieves Excalibur, which she had been keeping safe for him all that time. Arthur then goes with his remaining knights to battle Mordred, where he is mortally wounded, and Perceval fulfills his final act for his king by returning the sword to the Lady of the Lake as Arthur is spirited away to Avalon. Final thoughts: This movie is so damn good. Nobody's doing it like Boorman. It's my favorite version of the grail quest. Very horror, as it should be. (Monty Python is a different tone, not a worse one!) I love everyone's acting here, the casting is so rich, I love the look and vibe of everyone, the Shakespearean line delivery. All of it. The gaudy green lighting is so 80s but it works, it sets a tone, it commits to the bit, illuminates every magical scene. And the armor is obviously incredible. I won't hear criticism. Either you get it or you don't. You can watch an entire mini-series about the armorer, Terry English, produced by Mythbuster's Adam Savage on YouTube, here. And if you want to learn more about Mordred's cool helmet specifically, watch here. Anyway please watch this, you won't be disappointed.
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noosayog · 7 months
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[IT'S ALWAYS BEEN YOU] - knight! Iwaizumi x princess! reader
warnings/content: royal au, arranged marriage, mutual pining, angst
wc: 1.7k
part 4. directory here.
--
Iwaizumi has always been serious. He takes his studies seriously, his knight training seriously, his duties seriously. His primary school teachers often praised him for being a wonderful counterpart to Prince Oikawa’s flippantness and spells of melodrama, unbefitting of a future king. By the end of his first year of primary school, he had heard more compliments for his prompt leashing of Prince Oikawa than for his own achievements. Perfect scores would be praised for being a good example for the future king. Team athletics wins would be praised for making Prince Oikawa look good. Every achievement was marked by the effect it would have on the Prince. 
During Iwaizumi’s first visit to the palace, King Oikawa had said, “I’m glad to meet the young man who has been the subject of unending praises from all the teachers.” 
Iwaizumi had lifted his head from its bowed position, preening from the high praise. 
“Thank you, your Highness.” 
“I thank you for being an exemplary friend to keep my son in check.” 
Smile fading, Iwaizumi had bowed again, muttering an obligatory “of course, it is only my duty.” 
By the time Iwaizumi meets you, his station is very much established. He is your older brother’s companion, friend, and keeper. 
And his frequent visits to the castle translates to frequently seeing you. Oftentimes, he would offer you a wordless bow as you skipped around the palace, no particular destination or objective in mind. You were free, unlike your brother, destined to sit on the throne. The first time he ever spoke words to you, an introduction of himself, you had cut him off. 
“I know you,” you said. “You’re like Toru’s doggy!” 
No doubt, you had innocent intentions but Iwaizumi’s expression had frozen in place. You left him standing there while you frolicked away, blissfully unaware of how easily you had called him out. Even from your young age, you were unapologetically outspoken, no doubt a product of Toru’s spoiling and your parents’ leniency. Iwaizumi was happy to be added to your group of admirers, along with the maids, butlers, and visiting nobles that would trail after you, charmed by your innocence and brightness. Your straightforwardness, untainted by hidden desires and ulterior motives.
You, on the other hand, grew in your dislike for him. He had always suspected it had much to do with the way he always followed orders, solidifying his position as the kingdom’s dog in your little mind. He didn’t mind, though. Iwaizumi was happy to be near your sunny disposition, even if he had to be your raincloud occasionally. 
When Iwaizumi, along with Matsukawa and Hanamaki, were finally knighted, you were just then beginning to start your lessons and etiquette training. Iwaizumi took instant notice of your increasing tantrums and prickly behavior. Nothing irritated you more than knowing that every detail of your day was being reported to your father. 
The anger on your face could not be hidden when the King had formally assigned Iwaizumi as your personal knight. 
“I don’t need a babysitter, father!” 
“Silence! Your mother and I have been lenient enough for your childhood. You are coming of age soon and it would benefit you to learn from someone as upstanding as Sir Iwaizumi.” 
Iwaizumi stood stoic, only bowing a goodbye before following you, storming out of the throne room.
The first couple of months were tough. You did anything and everything to try to shake him from following you and yelled scathing comments everyday. However, it all changed that day when you had tried to sneak out of the castle by jumping your balcony. Iwaizumi’s heart nearly stopped when he saw your little palms gripping the rail and your body swinging precariously from the ledge. 
When he had caught you, your face was pinched up, as if bracing yourself for a lecture from him. And usually, he would. But Iwaizumi himself, was still calming his heartbeat from the fear that he may not have made it in time. Selfishly, he held you closer and tighter the entire way up to your room and it wasn’t until he went to lay you in your bed that he realized how scared you must have been. Your arms refused to unwind themselves from his neck and he simply stayed bent over, allowing you to use him however you pleased. 
After that, well, the rest was history. You abandoned your old methods of bullying him (well, the worst you could really do is make him stand behind you while you invited Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and your elder brother to tea). You swaddled him with attention and he, for once, was pleased to be on the other side. While he already very much liked your prickly, temperamental side, he found that he liked being on the receiving end of your smiles and laughter more. This period of gentle times made it easy to overlook your growing affection for him. He was grateful for your pleasantness and basked contentedly in your attention, so much so that he convinced himself that your newfound attachment to him was simply out of thankfulness and respect, something he didn’t have from you before.
It would be a lie to say that he had never once considered you as a woman upon your growth into your twenties. But whenever those thoughts crossed his mind, he immediately squashed them. He had gone on many midnight runs and requested spontaneous spars with fellow knights to banish those thoughts. You were a princess and he was simply a knight who was lucky enough to be friends with your brother. If he were to even consider breaking tradition and courting you, he would no longer be of use to you and Toru. He was sure the king would banish him from the castle, from seeing you and Toru ever again.
And in spite of all this, he never could have predicted that your feelings for him would remain strong throughout your adult years and even worse, threaten your path to happiness.
Yes, Iwaizumi had known about your engagement many moons before you were to find out. The king had plied Iwaizumi with a file of information on your future partner, prince Kuroo Testuro of Nekoma. It was only natural that Iwaizumi, as your knight and friend, did proper due diligence on the one who would take over his role permanently – his role of caring for you. The bitterness at the thought of being replaced is easy to ignore when he imagines how happy you would be with a partner befitting of your status. 
On paper, Kuroo Tetsuro looked the perfect partner, suitable for someone as wonderful as you. Well-liked, intelligent, and has no history of womanizing. Not that Iwaizumi cared, but the foreign prince was apparently tall, handsome, and funny as well. 
So in a way, this request for union with Nekoma came at a good time. Your prince would be someone all-around loved and lovely. Befitting of a princess.
And your infatuation with him? It has always been something temporary. Once you meet your future husband, you would see how much better you can have than a knight like himself.
Now, he knew you would oppose when the king told you of the betrothal; it wouldn’t be you without the spark of rebellion and slight flair of dramatics. You were your brother’s sister, after all. But nothing prepared Iwaizumi for the sheer despair in your eyes as your father all but prisoned you in your room. He followed you to your room, taking extra care to trail steps behind you. You just needed time, he nodded to himself. 
Intending to give you space and quiet, he remained at the door but you had tugged on his hand, pleading for his company. The signals were going off in his mind, but he couldn’t bear to turn you down, with your watery eyes and red cheeks staring imploringly up at him.
His fears were realized when you had asked him to run away with you.
A part of him that he had been denying and ignoring for years began to fester and throb like a wound that had been ignored for too long. He felt ill at the sight of you being willing to risk your future, your happiness, just to be with him. It was head-spinning, heart-throbbing madness.
And so it had to be him. He had to be the responsible one here. As much as it filled him to the brim with joy that you loved him this much, it scared him equally. Scared him because he had already made up his mind to let you go. Scared that he had far underestimated your infatuation. Scared him that he had made the wrong choice all these years, that he should have distanced himself the moment he realized your feelings. Scared that it was his fault that you won’t be able to fall in love with the right man. Scared that you could now never be happy because it can’t be him. All his fault.
With a breaking heart and shaky hands, he had pried your desperate fingers off. After all, his moment of weakness now could cause you your happiness forever.
And he would never forget your face when he had left you sitting there on the floor of your bedroom.
And in spite of all that, Iwaizumi felt betrayed. Betrayed by the on-paper, perfect Prince Kuroo when he heard of the prince’s proposition for you.
He can’t help but feel his efforts wasted. If only this prince had any idea of the clenched fists and unsaid words that Iwaizumi has had to hold back all these years. It should have been so easy for him. Without lifting a finger, this prince has a chance to be with you. To have you as his. And yet, he wants more. He wants you as his partner and another lover. 
This is not the happiness he had always envisioned for you. 
You deserve the world and a husband who loves you whole-heartedly is only the bare minimum.
Iwaizumi cannot believe his ears when you agree.
It gets worse when you send him home. With one word from you, he is not even allowed to remain by your side, watch over you as you attain the happiness you so deserve. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but a hot, bubbly feeling overflows in his chest. It leaves hollow caverns running through his body, nothing but the following thought echoing in his mind:
I’m in love with you.
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fanwarrior321 · 8 months
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with all the beautiful gay content coming out I felt a need to rewatch Young Royals and I am further affirmed that that shit is top tier. the intimacy, the writing, the CHEMISTRY, the acting, the visuals, the soundtrack/score, just ALL of it is the definition of a television chefs kiss and I will forever be obsessed with it
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oceean · 8 months
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My Model
Pairings: Panther!Shurixblack!fem!playboy!model
Summary: you were one of the top models in the company. Suddenly you were introduced to the saving grace and sexual being. Shuri Udaku
Warnings: Fingering(reader receiving), slight overstimulation(reader receiving) biting(Shuri gat then fangs on her.) doggy style, a tad bit of drunk sex? a whole bunch of shit.
🏷️: @pantherheart @pocketsizedpanther @prettymrswright @desswright29 @imjusthere2readbruv @ihearttish @inmyheadimobsessed @sexyntired @shurislover @sapphicvqmpires @saintwrld
Not proofread.
|~~~
“GIVE ME MORE BABY!”
You switched up your poses. At the ripe age of 22 you were the youngest playboy model. You stared when you were 19 and immediately caught the attention of many viewers. In result, you were paid the highest, scored many interviews and brand deals, invited to exclusive parties, being in the cover of vogue and more.
Your parents were quite supportive of your decision to be a model. As long as you weren’t naked, they would parade your pictures around to anyone. Their daughter was very beautiful. Curvaceous body and a brain that can go on. What’s not to be shown off?
You were very happy when your parents gave you their full support. It made you strive to go harder knowing that they got your back no matter what.
Now you were currently doing your monthly cover of the magazine. You were told to have a busy day ahead. With Bogus playing in the background you were in your groove. Your friends of the playboy magazine hyping you up and even the photographer as well.
“I LOVE IT Y/N”
“GIVE IT TO ME BABY”
“YOUR STUNNING!”
Feeding off these compliments you giving more and more. Serving a plater that you know you have give. And that you gave.
‘CUNT’ is what they call you. Like Beyoncé said. “Face card never declines, MY GOD”
“Alright darling, that’s enough for the day, get some rest.” Your photographer hugged and kissed your cheek and left. You grabbed your robe and draped it on you as you walk to your dressing room.
You heard shuffling behind you as you turned as saw one of your friends Myra.
“Just wanna say, you were gorgeous out there.” She kissed your lips tenderly. You and Myra are not together. Both of you have an agreement that you both pleased each other sexually. More so she was also a friend.
You pulled away and smiled. “Thank you baby.” You opened the door letting both you and her inside. Closing it back. “You know watching you made me feel things.” Myra grabbed your waist with her soft polished hands. You draped your hand over her neck and stare into her bright green eyes.
“Oh yeah? What it make you feel?”
Myra dragged on of your hands into her shorts, surpassing her panties, feeling her wetness caress your fingers.
“Oh my, Myra.” You pulled your hands out. “Lock the door baby.”
Myra giggled and excitedly knowing she always gets her way with you.
|~~~
Outfit
It was well after 8:00 pm. You had a club appearance and was told a special guest would be there. You got dresses and headed out. You were in your chauffeur by yourself just enjoying your peace and company. The bring lights of billboard advertisements dancing across the car window and it drives.
It was quiet. Your driver knew you didn’t like to talk to much. It was all you ever looked for sometimes.
PEACE.
|~~~
Not to long you arrived and the party was getting started. You weren’t a heavy drinker but you sure knew how to hype and make the place go from 10 to 100. You were at the bar when the light and music started blaring.
“EVERYONE BUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR YOUR SAVING GRACE, SHURI UDAKU.”
Sudden everyone goes crazy. The people roared as the young royal entered the place. She was wearing a sparkly suit that shined brightly against her skin. Her curls popping as she radiated throughout the club.
You found yourself staring at her. You were in awe. Shuri was an attractive women. You knew that and the girl between your legs knew that too. She was a sight to die for. You payed for your drink and return to your section.
“ITS CRAZY OUT HERE…WE HAVE INFAMOUS PLAYBOY MODEL Y/N AND THE BLACK PANTHER SHURI…LETS TURN UP!!!”
The whole club screamed as music blasted through the speakers.
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There then the bottle girls came and handed out different platters of shots. Of course being the party girl you are, you decided to let loose tonight. You drank a variety of shots. Not letting the burning sweet sensation of liquor settle in your throat. You were having a fun time. Who was gonna stop you.
|~~~
You were swaying to the beat of the song playing. The feeling of intoxicating drinks made you feel care-free. Not caring who or what was was around. But you did feel a pair of eyes on you. You looked around and saw your eyes settling on the queen herself. Your eyes widened at the sight of the queen giving you such intense eye contact. You grinned a bit and continued dancing, with the eyes of the panther on you like her prey.
Suddenly while doing a slow whine to the song, you felt a pair of slender hands on you. You look down and saw silver rings glowing on dark fingers. You turned and saw the one and only Shuri Udaku. She was a goddess up close.
Her curls covering her face as the sunglasses covered her eyes. The suit stealing most of your attention as it shimmered under the neon lights.
“molo sithandwa”, she grinned. Her diamond grillz showing. She was just getting finer and finer. (Hello, love). You were caught in some kind of trance. You couldn’t believe that she was actually talking to you.
“H-Hi…shuri.” You stuttered embarrassingly. You looked down at you heeled feet. You couldn’t stare at her for too long. You felt like you were going to collapse.
She used her finger to slid under your chin. She took off her sunglasses and her eyes shined so ever brightly. It was like she was reading and fucking you at the same time. Just with her eyes. She was trying to study you. To see the the type of person you are.
“The infamous y/n…can’t believe I have you trembling already.” Her voice so smooth. So sultry and a bit deep. You felt your lower half throb and your knees almost buck together.
Just by her voice.
She chuckled deeply and took her finger from your chin. “How about we go somewhere more private yeah?.” She looked for a response. You were so trapped by her essence that you didn’t even hear her question. Just everything was perfect for her.
“Did you hear me baby?”
You came back to reality and look at her sweet face.
“What did you say?”
“I said, if we could go somewhere private.”
You nodded eagerly at her request. You weren’t sure why you were embarrassed or shy all of a sudden. Maybe it’s just the dominance surrounding her.
She lightly grabbed your hand and walked you from the dance floor into a private room.
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You walked in first and was Impressed by the room. While admiring the couches, shuri locked the door. Knowing this was gonna be a long night.
|~~~
3 shots later
You were giggling non-stop. Either Shuri is just that funny or you have a bad sense of humor.
Either way, win win.
“So your telling me he was naked in your room??”
“Honestly it was a awful and awkward sight see.”the panther scrunched her face in disgust. You grinned and put your cup down.
“Your really pretty.” You suddenly confessed. You + drinking = some type of confidence booster for you.
“I am?”
“You are.” You caressed her face.
Shuri stared into your eyes again. The same way she did the first time. You squeezed you thighs, trying to ignore the aching pain in between them. Shuri gazed you up and down.
Your soft giving the scent of coco butter and vanilla. Your outfit curving your body the right way.
She tapped her thigh, insinuating for you to sit on her lap. You followed and straddled facing her. You wrapped your hands around her neck while she wrapped one arm on your wait and another gripping your thighs.
“You know…you and this dress, it’s driving me wild. You look so good.” She trials her ringed finger between the alleyway of your breast. You felt yourself throbbing and your pretty sure she can as well. You rubbed the back of neck to ease yourself.
“You know, Shuri…I’ve had my eye on you for a while. You always knew how to command a room when you walk in. I love that about you.” You stared at her lips while talking.
“If you wanna kiss me…all you had to was ask.”
|~~~
And here you were. Having a make out session with the queen and black panther. If someone told you this was gonna happen, you were gonna laugh in their face.
But , yunno,
JACKPOT !!
You were grinding slowly to the music playing in the background, faintly. Both you and Shuri tongues waltzing together in harmony. Her hands switched graciously between your hips and your ass. Fingers sinking in to make sure bruises here gonna be seen. You held her face close. Never wanted to let go of her.
Her hands the traveled down to your inner thighs, ever rubbing so slowly. She went further until she felt something wet. She pulled away and breathed heavily to catch her breath.
“What..d-did I do something wrong?”
Shuri only smirked. She placed two fingers and swiped them on the inside of your thigh. She pulled them to your face and you blush in embarrassment.
“If you were that horny you could asked to speed up the process. I could literally smell your heat baby.” She titled her head to the side with that nasty smirk laying so perfectly on her face.
You were speechless. You hid your face inside of her neck. “Nothing to be shamed about. Just shows me I’m doing something right. Do you wanna speed up the process?” You shoved your neck father into her neck.
Then you felt a jolt on your ass.
“I asked you a question. Did you wanna speed of the process Princess?” You came from her neck and look in her eyes. Lust was just swimming in them.
“Yeah…let’s speed this up.”
And boy did she.
|~~~
“FUCK SHURI.” You moaned loudly and she abused your cunt. She only smirked and continued to go faster. You were naked while she was in her boxers and the silver bralette of her outfit. Clothes splattered all over the room. Moans travelled from your throat to the atmosphere, feeding her animalistic pace.
“Aww…do I make my princess feel good?” She turns two fingers into three. You grabbed her wrist in shock. “D-Damn shuri…” your eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Shuri lowered her mouth into your clit and you swore you were gonna die.
She sucked and licked all over your clit making you feel like you were on cloud 9. You gripped her curls and started to ride her face. Chasing your orgasm as you felt it on the tip.
“Shuri…panther…fuck I wanna cum.” Shuri took note of you calling her panther and boy did that turn her on. She went even faster, faster that you think wasn’t known to man. You swear you saw white as you let out a pornographic moan as you felt your orgasm wash over you. Your body limped into the couch and you chest rising up and down due to your heavy breathing.
“We’ll look at that. Your cum all on my fingers. And that’s only my fingers. Cant imagine you cumming on my dick.” She whispers in your ears. You whimper as she kissed your neck. Leaving red marks on your neck.
You were so in trouble for your photoshoot coming up.
It was like your neck was her favorite place. She sucked all over and slight bit you. Her grillz were off a long time ago. You told her, you wanted to see her teeth. She does have pretty teeth, but even prettier fangs. It was like you were obsessed them.
She gave you bite marks over your neck and chest. Around your boobs and your fat thighs. In the inside of course.
She rose up and kissed you sloppily. You kinda catching yourself after your hard orgasm kisses back.
She pulled away and went back down to your pretty cunt. Seeing the white cum flowing greatly into the couch. She would be a fool if she let it waste.
She went down, eye to contact to your cunt and slurped your juices. You hissed at the contact, seeing that you were still sensitive. She rubbed your thighs as a way to soothe you. She got back up and smiled at you.
“On your stomach Princess. We’re far from over.”
|~~~
Shuri was pounding into you. Watching her strap leaving and entering so easily into your cunt. You were a moaning mess. Your sounds were almost as loud as the music which Shuri didn’t mind. Her fingers digging deep into your hips. The slapping sounds of your ass and her hips were making her more damn hornier than usual.
“Panther…I want more. Please” Shuri abided by you request . She grabbbed your hair and pulled you up, your back meeting her naked chest. At this new angle she was hitting your cervix. Her hips going faster and harder into you.
“You like that huh? You like being fucked like a little slut?” She groaned. You were squeezing her so good. She let out moans into your ear, making your cunt even wetter.
“Seems like your sweet pussy agrees.” She grinned evilly and continued to abuse you. She shoved you back down on the couch. Your arch coming back.
“Panther…I’m gonna cum. Your fucking me so good.” Shuri groaned and started going at that animalistic pace she did before. She let that animal take over her. Her sharp claws digging more into your hips. Her groans soon became growls as she leaned down to your back and leave bite marks.
“Princess…look what you do to me. fuck…your squeezing me so…fuck.”
“Panther I’m gonna cum.”
“Me too princess.”
And with that you both came down. Seeing ducking white all over the room .
Shuri slowed down and grabbed onto the couch for support. She took her strap out of you and you limped onto the couch. Drool coming from your mouth.
“You…you okay princess?” You mumbled into the chair but nodded your hair yes. Shuri smiled at your fucked out state . She got up and went into the bathroom. There was a clean rag in the cabinets. She wet and cleaned you up.
|~~~
While the room stenches of sex, you and Shuri both were in your respective clothing. “So…panther huh?” You smiled and looked away. “It was a one time thing.” You grabbed your phone and saw couple messages from your friends and Myra.
Myra: saw you going with the queen. Guess you don’t need me anymore huh?
You closed your phone and put it back in your purse.
“I doubt this will be a one time thing.” She winked at you.
“What you wanna see me more often?”
“Of course. Those bite marks? Your mines now princess.”
|~~
WHEW SHET.
Damn this was tew good
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