#and you're in love so in love that it's akin to romeo and juliet and it's chaotic and endearing and straight up a roller coaster ride

[aryomengrande]

the tiger of the west junior high has reached his destination ! this apt will host karaoke and movie marathons—all for yuji and his favorite girl, jay ! thank you for stopping by at the apt, @itadoreyu ! come see us again in the future ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

rara's favorite random game | © aryomengrande 2023

…but wait ! these guests have arrived on an important day for the host ! taylor swift, who has been a great influence to her craft, celebrates her 35th birthday today ! upholding swiftie tradition, she’s handing out a bunch of friendship bracelets, made specially for yuji and jay ♡

to me fearless isn't not having fears, it's not that you're not afraid of anything. i think that being fearless is having a lot of fears, but you jump anyway. - taylor swift

[driaswrld]

🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT

LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *

🪷 dearest gentle reader, in matters of love and longing, prince satoru comes to the realization that love may only visit the fearless, whilst prince suguru comes to terms with the taste of hope on his tongue... 5k words.

🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, romeo & juliet esque balcony meeting, fruit flavored jealousy.

CHAPTER TWO. . . ˚ ༘ *

GRAPE FLAVORED.

Sleep eludes you tonight.

Two nights have passed since the first feast and despite Areta’s consistent chatter of appearances and well needed fun time for a lady of your stature — you’ve chosen not to attend the others for the time being.

You’re assured that Satoru’s presence at the feasts and balls in between remain slim to none unless called upon by his mother, a notion that you would be grateful for under any other circumstance to dodge the question everyone at the palace court whispers behind your back—

( why hasn’t the prince married her yet? )

—but you miss him.

Embarrassingly so.

With palms outstretched, you cradle your weight against the concrete rail of the terrace adjoined to your bedroom. A wisp of wind cooling your cheeks, realization settling in.

You miss Satoru — your best friend, your person.

You miss when he’d sleepily stumble into your alcove by the palace’s west wing and lay dramatically before you, begging you to paint him or at least sketch the width of his shoulders ; begging you to 'immortalize the omnipotent beauty of the realm’s strongest' — his words not yours.

The way he’d linger by your side, laugh at your jokes and make even cruder ones of his own—

This yearning settled deep within your bones akin to that of a grieving widow doesn’t feel the way it should feel when one misses a friend.

( satoru does not yearn for you in this way, you know it. )

It’s hot, a boiling pit within your stomach and it never leaves your veins—

—not until two nights ago, that is.

Two nights ago when he reappeared.

“Your highness?”

Dearest gentle reader,

in these delicate matters

of love and longing—

“My lady,” Suguru calls out in a similarly hushed fashion. “You're awake.”

Down below the terrace, he stands on the trimmed lawn in his sleep trousers and shirt, dark hair tousled and eyes half lidded — you would've laughed at him if the air between you two hadn't settled with something else.

“I couldn't sleep,” you respond, watching with bated breath as he steps forward, one foot resting atop a raised brick in the mud, eyes trained above, where you stand.

“You often take late strolls, your grace?”

Suguru laughs, breathy, soft. “Your grace,” he repeats your words, mockingly. A few dark strands fall over his eyes as he tilts his head back to look up at you. “You’d think having me in my sleeping trousers alone would be enough for you to discard all formalities—”

( right, this encounter is improper. )

“Forgive me, Suguru,” leaves your lips in correction. You lean further over the terrace rail, body bent in near half to gaze down at him. “It isn't often I speak with men while in my dressing gown.”

“Dear God, I hope not.”

A laugh of your own breaks through and he joins in unison.

So far, and yet so close.

A soft silence soon passes over the two of you under the moonlight.

Suguru, who’d been away for so long, could make years of absence feel null — as if he’d been residing here with you all this time. As if he had been keeping your company in tow, as if the breath of your laugh belonged to him.

As if he hadn't left you.

“I wondered,” Suguru breaks the silence, pale fist wrapping around a stray vine along the wall. “If I would get the chance to speak with you like this.” He whispers, but even from so high above, you hear him clearly in the night's silence.

You know what he means. Just us two. You’ve wondered the same, albeit too often through the years.

Why didn't you write to me? You want to ask. Why didn't you come to visit? Follows next in your brain. Did you move on? Did you fall in love?

( have you been happy away from me? )

“Did you read my letters?”

—often we forget

just how greedy

the heart can be.

“All of them,” Suguru breathes, almost like it hurts to say.

As if it pains him physically to remember how he tore the wax seals open with his teeth, licked the flap of the envelopes and nearly cried when it tasted of you—

“More than once, more than I ought to.”

Suguru grips the vine tighter in his fist, stilling himself and invoking restraint. This isn't his place, not anymore.

If he had it his way, he’d be on the terrace with you, and he’d tell you every thought he had about each word you’d written, with his hands, his teeth, his tongue.

“Suguru. . .”

It reminds you too much of your childhood.

Often you would chase after Satoru and Suguru.

Always both, never one.

And though you knew your fate as a Princess — who would marry a crowned Prince — your foolish heart, so greedy and naive. . .

“I have my obligations.” It leaves your lungs like a lie, something you won't even begin to believe.

You're betrothed to Satoru. It's set in stone.

But the both of you know that's not why you're saying no. “The solstice ends in a week and you will be—” He'll be gone again.

“I’ll not wait a whole week.” Suguru’s voice is still quiet, but even you can't deny the raw hunger behind his words. “If I apologize and say that I wish—”

“You will do no such thing,” you warn, shakily. “Not now, not. . . because of this.” Not because in nearly every way that matters, you’re Satoru’s.

( i wish i told you. i wish i wasn't too late. i wish )

Suguru wished he had stayed.

He wished he had made do on the promises he made to you as children and been at your side, not just as your friend but as the man you would marry—

All those things he had sworn upon his own heart. . .

“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”

“And if I say I will, what then?” Suguru had scoffed at your cousin back then. At the mere age of twelve.

“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”

“Don't be so crass, Satoru.” Suguru grumbled, grabbing ahold of your hand and tugging you forward the moment you fell behind. “She's my friend.”

( and yet. )

Lady Dria writes : Prince Geto to assume royal estate in the North following rumored betrothal to mystery woman! Is this the end of our beloved royal trio?

( duty came first. )

“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”

“I’ll let you keep your tongue,” Satoru scoffed, stepping between you and one of the ladies at court the day after Suguru left. “But address the Princess so loosely again and I swear—”

That night, you cried in the confines of Satoru’s private chambers, your fingers bleeding ink and red wax staining the front of your dress.

What was her name? How long had Suguru known it was arranged? Why didn't he tell you? If you ask him now, will he tell you? Is he ever coming back?

Does he love her?

And it was then, when you didn't have any more words to write, nothing left to say to Suguru that he might not have known, did Satoru tell you,

“I’m here.”

And you believed him.

“Name—” Suguru calls to you and you shake your head, straightening your posture and leaning off the terrace rail. “I wanted to say it before, you were gorgeous at the first solstice feast. . . Still are, even after so long.”

Suguru bites back the words he really wanted to say. I dreamt of you, you look the same.

“You flatter me,” it leaves you breathily, and the beats of your heart elude your better judgement.

“Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.” Suguru's words hold an undertone that’s lost on you in the moment, yet still you smile at him.

He doesn't see the expression on your face when you turn away, craning his neck to find something— some inclination that he has a chance—

“Goodnight, your highness.” In your voice he finds it, that small sliver of nostalgia, and his heart grasps it in earnest.

Beloved reader,

I fear I must also

impart the knowledge—

Satoru stops dead in his tracks, a single peach colored rose falling from his palm.

—that there are always

three sides to a story.

From across the way his cerulean eyes lock with Suguru’s darker ones, and there is nothing to be said, as they both know what the other is thinking.

You are not worthy of her.

Morning gives way to the first of three hunting days.

As per the terms of the competition, all commoners go ahead before nobles to keep the proceedings fair.

Satoru sits still atop his horse, cerulean orbs downcast and flitting through the mass of bodies in the crowd riding ahead of him.

“Have you and Suguru finally fought?”

Satoru’s eyes widen for a brief moment, turning his head to the side and loosening his grip on the horse’s reins, his mother standing at his side, caressing the mare’s mane with jewel adorned fingers.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, mother.”

The older woman scoffs, the horse leaning eagerly into the touch of her palm.

“When you and Suguru were but meek babes, you two had your first fight you know.” Satoru’s mother smiles a little at the memory.

Back then, both boys were merely toddlers and squabbling with tiny fists over nothing but a simple rattle.

Neither would concede to the other.

Even so young, they fought as they still do to this day. As rivals, as best friends.

“Did I win?” Satoru asks, lifting his gaze to the scenery of dawn before him, drowning out the eager shouts of men and women alike, placing their bets for the competition to come.

“No,” she responds and Satoru’s lips curl into a small frown. “The rattle you fought over snapped in two, ‘toru.”

This isn't about a rattle, is it?

“I won't concede, if that’s what you’ve come to ask of me.” He affirms, and his mother shakes her head, stifling a laugh.

“She isn't a rattle, nor is this a battlefield—” Satoru’s mother is observant, painfully so. “I asked your father to arrange the match myself for the sole purpose that I know you care for her, and I would not subject you to a fate not of your choosing—”

( she can choose, whereas a rattle could not. that is the sole difference is it not? )

“But you would have me sit here and let her choose him?”

Satoru Gojo is many things.

Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.

He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.

But when it comes to you. . .

Doting reader,

our beloved Prince Satoru

has yet to realize—

“I did not raise a selfish fool. Maybe a proud fool but not a selfish one—” She smacks the side of his leg to which he immediately recoils with a pout on his lips. “You never win love, you earn it.”

As if love can be akin to fleeting favor.

“I am selfish,” Satoru confirms, not shy of shame though. “She would hate me for it, if she doesn't already.” He hangs his head for a brief moment, a puff of a sigh leaving his parted lips. “But can you blame me?”

Satoru is many things.

But not blind.

How can he tell you that he cares for you, that he’s fallen helplessly and carelessly in love with you knowing that he’d be imprisoning you to a fate he loathes?

Whispers behind your back the more you are seen with him or without, the more he puts off the betrothal, the more he leaves your side the more he hopes you’ll learn you don't want him—

That this life, at this palace is less than you deserve.

And yet. . .

—that love is not

a war you march into

of your own accord.

He’s selfish.

“Have you asked her what she wants?”

No, because he’s afraid you’ll say what he wants you to. That you don't want him.

That by the hour you grow more miserable the more he keeps you waiting, tethered by a short thread just waiting to snap—

Satoru convinced himself that if he waited just a little longer, that maybe you’d grow tired and snap the thread all together in one go.

And then the marriage wouldn't happen, you’d contest it and he'd agree. He could keep you close like before, without breaking your heart, even at the cost of his.

“Satoru.” His mother warns, deep azure boring into the side of his face. “That debutant at the dinner—” God forbid she did raise a selfish fool, who would selfishly self sabotage—

“I never touched her.”

“You say that and then you do these things as if I'm to be convinced you've changed.” His mother sighs, as if history has come around to repeat itself. “You don't even realize you're clutching your end too tight.”

And you’ll break if he doesn't let go.

“I can't tell her.”

“You must.”

Who is he to condemn you to the life of a Queen?

In the same way his father did his mother?

That spark in your eyes will go dim, and he’ll watch you give yourself to your duty and it’ll kill him, even worse than you not wanting him will.

He’d prefer you hate him altogether.

“Are you happy with father?”

Darling reader,

perhaps love

only visits the fearless.

“Your father is a good man.”

Satoru would rather die by his own hand before he hears those words from your lips too.

“My lady?”

You visibly wince, cowering behind one of the marble columns in the ballroom.

The few chandeliers that provide light do little to help your situation as Areta’s voice had already notified a few of the dancing nobles of your presence — to which you were met with confused stares.

“Please, keep your voice down.” You hush her, sliding around to the other side of the column where Areta stands, eyes wide and curious.

Areta’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, her lips parting, about to question your odd behavior.

You're hiding. Or at least trying to.

You had no choice in coming to tonight's festivities, as you were already knee deep in your pre-arranged afternoon nap when your dearest mother barged in and asked ( read : demanded ) that you attended tonight's ball to quote en quote ‘keep up appearances.’

With much practiced skill, you’ve eluded Satoru and Suguru by barring yourself in your room recently.

But, cowering behind a column won't get you far, right?

“I don't think hiding is what I mean when I encouraged you to have fun, my lady.” Areta speaks hushedly, joining you behind the column, two full glasses clutched between her fingers. “And if it’s the Prince who you—”

“Oh, spare me, which one?” You chuckle, tilting your head back onto the marble with an eye roll.

“You’ve had trouble with Prince Geto too?” Areta gasps, though not shocked, the young girl's eyes gloss over with curiosity — ever the devoted gossip.

( perhaps if you stay here and sip drinks with Areta, no one will even notice your presence ! )

Devoted reader,

our protagonist

has a pattern of

terrible judgement.

“Hardly trouble, I’m afraid.” You take one of the glasses from Areta’s hands and bring the rim to your nose — grape juice. How fitting. “Trouble would be better, I can handle trouble.”

What you can't handle is both your childhood friends driving you mad with feelings you never even knew existed.

One who torments you with mixed signals and provokes new feelings in the pit of your stomach.

And another who stirs and awakens old feelings inside of you that you thought were long lost.

“Well, I doubt trouble is what you need presently, my lady.” Areta chuckles a little, her voice soon trailing off as she takes a sip of her own drink. “Oh! You wore them—”

“I thought perhaps,” You murmur, more to yourself, fingers fiddling with the edge of your silk gloves – the same black ones from a few nights ago. “I’d wear them once more before I set them aside.”

Now that you think about it, Satoru never said anything about the dress or the gloves — not that it matters to you anyway.

Faithful reader,

it matters.

Too much.

“They're quite beautiful, as are all Prince Satoru’s gifts.” Areta affirms with a soft smile as you drink from your glass, leaning off the column and straightening your posture. “But, I thought he usually had more of an affinity for lace—”

“I was called?”

You jump just a little, turning immediately to meet the source of the intrusion, to which you bump straight into Satoru, spilling the contents of your cup on both of you.

“I’m sorry—” “Grape juice—”

You take a few steps back, immediately crouching to retrieve your fallen cup, but Areta beats you to it, not shy of shooting you a quick wink before she scurries off into the crowd. Deviant.

“You don't like the wine tonight?” Satoru hums, outstretching a hand to pull you to your feet, and you hesitate for a moment.

Only for a moment.

“I didn't think drinking would be wise,” You take his hand, silk sliding soft against his awaiting palm. You don't miss the way his shoulders tighten. “And grape juice—”

“Is your preferred drink of choice, I know.” He finishes, cerulean orbs gazing into your very soul.

You can feel the thrum of his pulse speeding up against your fingertips, calling you, like a siren song. . .

( you should've stayed in bed tonight. )

Admittedly, Satoru was never the type to drink either. He could never hold his alcohol, hated the taste, even if it was just a drop in fermented fruit.

Grape juice was his drink of choice.

And then it became yours.

“I’m sorry, again.” It leaves your lips in a hurry as you look away from him, pulling your hand back as soon as you're upright. “My head must've been somewhere else. . .” Last night on the terrace. Your mind remains there.

Is Suguru going to magically appear too?

You furiously rub a fist over the purple stain forming at the front of your gown. “I need to change my dress—”

“It's not your fault, silk can be slippery.” Satoru bites back a grunt, bringing a palm to your elbow as he guides you off to the side, towards the adjacent corridor. “Come, I’ll help.”

Silk.

( what's his problem with the gloves? )

You follow his lead, a sigh escaping your lips as you both come upon the nearest alcove in the dim light.

You can barely see the velvet cushioning of the sofa tucked away neatly in the back.

The soft moonlight falling through the open window brings a sense of calm when you take a seat, eyes catching on the violet smudge against Satoru’s pearl white vest.

Often in your youth between balls, you, Satoru and Suguru would sneak off to the nearest alcove you could find, pry the window open and sit together on the sill—

“Your vest—” He follows your gaze as he bends a knee, kneeling at your feet casually.

Satoru presses his middle finger over the damp fabric, and unabashedly sticks the digit into his mouth. “Mhm, that's grape juice.”

“Satoru!” You scold.

He only laughs, strands of snowy hair bouncing with each shake of his shoulders. It's a very Satoru-like laugh, but there's something else you can't quite place—

“It's just a juice spill, I’ll live.” Satoru’s smile dips into his cheeks. Dimples. “Hated this stupid thing anyway, I should be thanking you for ridding me of it,” he murmurs, rolling his shoulders back to slip the vest off, muscles taut against his shirt with each movement of his arms.

“Hey— hey—!” You raise your palms to push against his chest to stop him, heat rising at the back of your neck. “Don't do that—” It comes out too late because Satoru is in the middle of rolling the vest off his arms. "You can't just undress—"

The way Satoru only leans forward, shades of azure searching your gaze for something, it's like he's daring you to not look away as he slips the vest off his arms bent behind him.

( why did you run away from me? )

You hold his gaze, the longest you have in days, manicured nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

( why didn't you give chase? )

“Name,” he whispers, as if he’s holding back, but he refuses to look away from you. Not right now.

“Don't look at me like that, ‘toru. . .” You whisper, and it takes everything inside you not scream at him, to say everything you've been wanting to say, everything that's burning your insides.

( don't look at me as if you know desire. )

“Name.” Satoru calls your name, firmer this time, just as his vest drops to the floor behind him.

His knees burn, or maybe his eyes — he doesn't know, his mouth has gone dry and oxygen eludes him.

He's not how he was in your youth.

Satoru slides a pale hand up to grasp one of your palms against his chest, pads of his fingers hooking under the dark silk, and in one fluid motion, he's pulling the glove off your hand.

“That's disrespectful,” you breathe, voice barely audible, the echo of classical instruments sauntering through the vacant corridor. “You can't have two times the favor in any competition—”

“It's not your favor I want.” Satoru grasps the silk in his palm, biting back a grimace.

I’m jealous, he wants to say. Instead he leans closer, and without letting go of your bare hand, he’s aiming to toss the glove over your shoulder and out the window.

“Satoru—!” You retract your hand from his chest to paw at the glove, trying to get it back, and his breath tickles the skin of your throat, his eyes looking down at you, only this time a few shades darker — royal blue, cobalt.

Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.

( so that's what suguru meant. . . )

“Are you—”

“Jealous? Me? Never.” Satoru rasps the words out like a cancer, his heart seizing and doing somersaults against his ribcage.

“I have to commend Suguru though, the North does make the finest silk. . . Any lady would be glad for such a gift,” he whispers. Even praising Suguru is like an act of surrender to him.

“I wasn't going to say jealous, my Prince.” Your brain melts to a mush of questions.

Satoru isn't jealous because of you— no, that can't be right— he’d be jealous if someone bet on the same horse race as him and won—

( you’re thinking too much, name. )

It's the assessment of his audacity that has the back of your neck heated.

Satoru bites down on his bottom lip, and for a second he squeezes his eyes shut.

Everything burns, it's a miracle he can still see straight.

“What were you going to say?”

You swallow, hard.

Satoru’s face is so close to yours that every word he speaks reverberates through your being like electricity. “I was going to ask if you were okay.” A half truth, really. "Your vest is stained—"

First, you were going to ask if he’d lost his damn mind.

“God, name.” Satoru grunts, dropping the glove dramatically onto the velvet sofa, instead moving his hand to cage you between his arms, his hips against the outerskirts of your dress. “You don't even know what you're doing. . .”

His lips curve into a smile, dimpled cheeks staring back at you.

“Satoru—” It’s innocent enough, the way he leans forward enough to press the side of his face against your cheek.

It’s innocent enough, the way his hand grips your hip, firm and reassuring, the way he’d guide you on horseback. You only pretended not to be good so he'd teach you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against the shell of your ear, his lips soft against your burning skin.

“Do you even know all the ways a woman can be seduced?” It's a sultry tease that has your nails digging into the sofa under you.

Silk gloves, he wants to say. Men seduce women with silk.

Satoru dips his head in a swift motion, his mouth planting a ghost of a kiss to the corner or your lips, and his dimples deepen when your head moves forward to chase his taste, something you’ve never had but crave with every inch of your being.

“Satoru.” You whisper, desperate. He hates himself for wanting this so bad.

He doesn't make you wait long as he presses his lips to yours, it's rough, hungry — he sighs into your mouth, shoulders drooping like he’s finally found what he's been searching for all his life on your tongue.

He’s kissed you before, on the cheek, side of your neck, corner of your mouth — tasted the salty tears of your youth, licked his lips and drank in the remnants of your flavored lipgloss.

He was too young then, too foolish, too afraid to want more.

Satoru’s tongue slips past your parted lips, teeth on wet pink muscle and a shiver runs down his spine when he tastes you, truly tastes you for the first time.

Grape flavored and starving.

Your hand reaches for the collar of his shirt to tug him closer, to pull him deeper into you.

Slender fingers wrap around your wrist and your body trembles, unravelling, unravelling for him until—

He stops.

“Name,” Satoru breathes it in a broken whine, lips wet and swollen with you, each exhale he makes tickles your chin. “We have to stop.”

He’s made a mistake. A foolish one.

“‘Toru, it's okay,” you urge him, moving to pull him closer but his grip on your wrist tightens, keeping you still.

A frown forms on your lips when you see his gaze downcast, unable to meet you, and that gleam in his eyes — guilt.

“We should stop.”

Darling reader,

we all know

how the saying goes. . .

“Why?” The way it leaves your mouth so innocently, so small, in the same tone you had when you were little, chasing behind him no matter how he tried to leave you behind—

( why won't you look at me? )

It makes Satoru hate himself more.

“I’m a gentleman.” Satoru clears his throat and rises to his feet, folding his vest haphazardly over his arm. “You're a lady— a Princess— I can't just. . .”

“You can't just what?” Satoru doesn't recognize the bite behind your voice, the thread he kept toying at with razor blades finally thinning out, ready to snap and break apart. “You can't take me in a dark corridor as you do the other girls?”

He sputters.

It is that. But it's also so much more.

“Princess—”

“No.”

Nothing has changed. And you're not stupid, maybe slow, but never stupid. This isn't about a grape juice spill. It isn't about titles or being respectable.

( it’s about the three of you. )

Is it jealousy? Is this all about a stupid pair of gloves? About his pride? Why? Because he won't let Suguru win even if it means—

“Look at me.” Satoru is slouching in front of you, holding out his palm for you to take. He’s sincere, raw. “I swear to you, the way I feel about you cannot be likened to a secret in a corridor.”

( and yet, you always wished you were one of those girls with him in a dark corridor. )

. . . it's all downhill

from the first kiss.

“Your excuses again—” Satoru steps back when he feels silk stinging against his outstretched palm in a slap of rejection.

The glove he pulled off your hand, the glove Suguru gave to you, falls to the floor.

“And what even is it that you feel?” Your tone reverberates through his bones and Satoru’s considering finding purchase on his knees, where he’d show you what exactly he feels, he'd drink you in, drown in you and be done with the aftermath. “Do you enjoy this? Making me feel like a fool while you stay the bachelor—”

“This engagement was never my choice!” Satoru’s tone raises an octave, brows dipped and frown deep. “And I never—”

That's not what he means to say, not now.

( i never touched another since i laid awake thinking of you. )

“And that's why you won't touch me? Because I'm not your choice, I'm your duty?”

“God, ofcourse I want to touch you—” A guttural groan leaves him then, a rumble in the back of his throat. “If you would just understand—”

He’s a gentleman. Is what he says every waking moment he spends lying to himself that this is for you, that this is for your own good. . .

Because he knows—

( if he touched you now, he’d never stop. )

“Even now you can't say it.” How long have you known Satoru? How long have you been by his side, or rather, chased after him while he remained out of your reach? How long— “That you want me.”

It's almost comical, the way Satoru’s breath hitches in the back of his throat and the palm at his side forms a fist.

He wants you.

“Say it.”

Tell me you want me, tell me it’s me, tell me you feel what I feel too—

“I can't.”

You don't deserve this, I can't give you what you want, hate me so it hurts a little less—

You rise to your feet, the grape juice bleeding into your dress forgotten. “I always thought you were the bravest person to ever live. . .” The strongest. Prince Satoru, the realm’s omnipotent son — “You’ve fought in all these wars and you’ve fought and fought—”

Ever since you were children.

Satoru was every bit a soldier, princely and polished to perfection with his blade. He’s never lost a battle, you're sure, poets write about him.

( what does it feel like to be fought for? )

“Why won't you fight for me, Satoru?”

Satoru Gojo is many things.

Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.

He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.

But when it comes to you. . .

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Sorry, I’m so selfish. Sorry, I don't want you to leave. Sorry, it should be me and not him.

Sorry, I'm paralyzed in love with you.

He’s not asking you to stay.

This is what he wanted, right? For you to hate him — who is he kidding, you wouldn't hate him even if tried to make you — for you to realize he isn't what you need.

“You won't even give me one reason to stay.” Your throat hurts, you can still taste his tongue in your mouth, grape and mint, mint and grape. “Of all things, I never thought you to be such a damn coward—”

“I’m the Prince, for fucks sake!”

Your lips part then shut again, and Satoru takes a step back. This barrier between you two was always there, wasn't it? Invisible, cold to the touch.

Don't question me, I'm the Prince, he had said the day you asked him why, why can't I come play with you and Suguru?

( why won't you let me in? what are you so afraid of? )

“Then if it pleases the Prince,” It comes out shakier, in a voice that's barely your own.

Satoru picks it up before you do, you sound like a child — the same way you used to when he left you behind. “I’d like to be dismissed.”

The Prince.

Not your Prince.

( does a heart make noise when it shatters? )

“No,” Satoru steps forward, and you step back. It's like a sick game now, and with every thrum of his heart he swears he’ll die. “Name— just. . . no.”

He’s selfish. He knows that.

After this you’ll run off to Suguru won't you? And he’ll be there with open arms and words as soft as silk—

Satoru would know. Because he did the same thing once Suguru left.

But that was before it was this, before this was everything, before—

“Then forgive my defiance to the crown tonight.” You murmur and turn away, the glove is left behind.

Satoru is left behind.

You never win love, you earn it.

L’Incomparable is hardly the jewel on Satoru’s mind when you walk away from him for the second time.

( before he knew he loved you. )

🪷 taglist : @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnaboonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog @/baepsays @xxemmarldxx @/adoraspace @/hikaorinx @/lanecass @/theloveofnagiseishiroslife @/bajbbq @/jiraiyaisgod69 @/gojo-sunglasses @/in4rizaki @/chimsblogg @xkittiecatx @lordbugs @soultoru @ladytamayolover @the1exiled @pasta-warlord @drogonfruitzen @sexeyess @siren776 @v0ctin @scinclaitnoir @gugggu6gvai @shartnart1 @nnanamii @vanevafu @lillmyg @nikitopia @altyx @beaniedoodz @fubukeys @simpforramenboy @sinnerstardoll @coco-cat @melancholia-k

[marine-indie-gal]

Been awhile since I haven't drawn any Tabaluga lately, not since that I've finally got a chance to watch the Kristin Fairlie version online since I first found the Mackenzie Ziegler version from it's Alternate Stupid Title, "Ice Princess Lilly" only to fool a lot of people into thinking it was a Frozen knock-off from a Regular Old Dollar Store. Though it's still not a big surprise from Me for the US to give out some CGI Movie Adaptations of Kids Shows from an Old Decade under their own Cheap Titles like "Here Comes The Grump" to "A Wizard's Tale" and even "The Magic Roundabout" to "Doogal" (seriously, the last one sucked ass. Even though I haven't had a chance to watch the British version, I heard a lot of good things about the OG version of that Other Adaptation much better than how Weinstein butchered it with their own Pop Culture references).

So I had a small talk with my Friend, @djinarocks of how we loved Tabaluga and how that Arktos is one of our Favorite Villains of Musical Theatres (compare to Von Rothbart from "Swan Lake" and even The Mouse King from "The Nutcracker") after I introduced her to this German Franchise.

While that both Me and My Friend love Obscure Media a whole lot, we both ship Tabaluga/Lilli together as a Romeo and Juliet like pairing (since these Two Elemental Kids did reminded Me a lot of that Other Elemental Romeo and Juliet Movie made by Sanrio (not to be confused with the Pixar one that is)). During in one of our conversations, we talked about on how we wondered if Lilli didn't leave Iceland and started her own New Life up in Space if Arktos did raised her and treated her as his own Actual Heir (something as if his own Mother would've liked to have Grandchildren if the Son were to pass the Whole "Dictator" thing to his own Children like a Family Thing).

If you're one of the Fans who both love the Musical and the Show other than the Movie, you'd probably would know that Arktos created Her, only to lure Tabaluga in for exchange of his Fire (in which the 2018 Adaptation did by its own self, but without the Whole "Give Your Own Fire to Me" thing and replace it into having "One Last Hero to be Killed" scenario that made Arktos into a much more Sinister Creepy Dragon Genocidal Monster as an Akin Contrast to the OG Arktos). But since Me and My Friend had this "Thought" if Lilli didn't leave Iceland, what if Arktos had a different way with her? Something like raising a Heir and make them a Future Dictator for your own Country. If anything, that could've had make Lilli give her so much more character other than just a "Love Interest" (akin to the Movie's Lilli as well).

Basically, Arktos creates Lilli through Sculpture (but it goes different than the last one than in the show through a twist), instead of creating a Trap for Dragon Bait, he actually creates Lilli as a single heir of his own so that way she'd beat Tabaluga to rule all over the lands one day. After trying to wind her up with a Wind-Up Key, Arktos thought of a better solution by breathing her into Life to make her Real. He names his own Daughter, "Lilli" because after researching through a Book about Humans, he mispronounced the name "Lilith" (The First Wife of Adam) into "Lilli" and mistaken Her as Eve (Adam's True Wife) (because that's clearly how he created her according to some of the Musical's lore from what I can remember). Although while Tabaluga was deeply in love with Arktos' Humanoid Daughter, Arktos forbid their own love and didn't want to be a Father-In-Law to his own Arch-Nemesis (whose the Son of his First Enemy).

Teaching his own Child everything about Iceland Life, Lilli was somehow fascinated by the World of Greenland and wanted to explore around Other Countries instead invading to in which, She and Her Father have a Huge Conflict about. Unlike the Movie's Lilli, this AU Lilli has more personality than the one in the show of her single appearance; She is more Meek and Shy with a Quiet Personality but is still Curious about the Entire World that she demands to ask a Whole Lot of Questions (even if her Father dares to answer one of them). Despite their own disagreements, Arktos loved his own Daughter deeply similar to how his own Mother passed on her Son's Spoiled Love to Another (even James would still have to be Lilli's own Manny whenever his Penguin Butler would have to keep an eye on her whenever the Father's not around).

When Tabaluga got over his own crush for her after their first meeting, he basically decided on how to teach Lilli to be more "Independent" whenever she'd come and visit Greenland (either with or without her own Father), even with the help of her own Friends. Although that while most of the Greenlanders didn't like Lilli at first, the Ice Princess then expand more of her Kindness to her Surroundings as throughout her own Arc between Seasons 2-3, She and Tabaluga develop more of their Romance (instead of having a Rushed One). After the Frozen Defeat of Arktos, Lilli then decides for her own life that it is best to join her own Boyfriend and become the Rulers of both their own Lands after a Long Journey ahead of having Each of The Four Seasons be released every year as they start their own New Life together, thus, ending their own Families' hate feud.

I've probably should've had put this in my version of Tabaluga but oh well, at least this is probably from a Simple AU where if Lilli did had more Character than just being the Main Character's Love Interest. 🤷‍♀️

BTW, when I finally got a chance to watch the First English Dub Movie online, I was so Happy that I got a chance to seeing the Scene where Tabaluga and Lilli sing their own Love for Each Other from one of the Musicals and let me tell you it was sooooooo Adorable to see Tabaluga and Lilli's love for each other, which makes my Love for the Both of Them even more 🥰

And while that I still haven't checked out the Rest of the Musicals and their Songs (since I still can't understand German as Someone who wishes to learn more about Any Foreign Language for the Same Person who watches Foreign Cartoons all the time), I did try out the Original versions for "Devil In White" and "I'm Feeling You" as I still need to practice more of my own Tabaluga homework. XP

I was also afraid on how I would deal with my own first time drawing with Canon Arktos after doing my own version of Him (since his Left Arm was a bit hard for Me), but I think I nailed it after trying to draw out their own Canon Designs from the Franchise.

Arktos and Lilli (c) Peter Maffay, Rolf Zuckowski, and Gregor Rottschalk.

[rainbluealoekitten]

“So it’s summer, so it’s suicide.” Perhaps that line still holds true. How often do we juxtapose love with death? Collocate them? It’s in all the best tragedies. Romeo and Juliet, Orpheus and Euridice, Tristan and Iseult; each died for their love. Oscar Wilde, imprisoned for an uncensored bleeding heart, said, “There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.” But what do we want? Acceptance? Immortality? Joy? Love? Well, isn’t it always love? Love from our parents, who are distant as stars, though it is human nature to pray to them even as they blink on in indifference. There is romantic love, too, where we crave someone who will dress our bodies in the perfume of sweat, someone who will not only tighten their hold on us when the world fades to black, but who will commit to the much more difficult work of saying, Good morning, and How was your day? and I love you, I love you, I love you , even when all you do is pick out their favourite green apples at the market. “So it’s summer, so it’s suicide.” But does it have to be? Is the bashing of fists the same as the crashing of lips? Does the blood on one’s wrist come from the vena amoris ? Perhaps it is suicide. Perhaps it is folly. Jealousy, Ennui, and Heartbreak – some of the earliest monsters – snake their way already through Eden, waiting for the first blunder to be made. Why worship such a mercurial god, when It might revoke Its favour at a moment’s notice and leave us more impoverished than we had thought possible? Perhaps Man and his disgustingly desperate need for Love – something akin to l’appel du vide – is the stupidest creature invented yet by God. But just like we cannot resist God’s call, whether it be in a temple or a kitchen, one must agree that we cannot resist Love. And so, as certain as the crickets recite their hymns, we must imagine a picture of a boy composing foolish poetry in the shade of a great tree, while illuminated in a window, one woman hums to another. It is ten o’clock at night, and the Sun has not yet set, so hopeful is She for the young and old alike, who believe they are immortal simply because they are loved. It is summer, but it is not Sin. How can it be, when – amidst the fireflies, the gently lifting curtains, the tender moans – there is no Hell, and certainly no Heaven. There is no suicide for those who can live in tandem forever, breathing endlessly into one another.

PART TWO: Prologue. From Heart-Shaped Bruises

My Gilmore Girls fic has just been updated, but if you're new and interested, here is the summary for Part One (please note tags will need modification):

"So it's summer, so it's suicide." At least, that's what Casper Rains thinks when beautiful trouble-maker Jess Mariano first strolls into the Stars Hollow library. Casper's not an idiot; he knows exactly how this crush is going to end, but he can't help himself as he sinks deeper and deeper in love. But when Jess slowly starts to befriend Casper, could it mean that he too is secretly harbouring feelings?

At the risk of spoilers, Part Two begins two months into the relationship. All seems to be going well, until their final year of school begins and there are colleges to think about... not to mention parents and ex-boyfriends. Will Jess and Casper be able to navigate the troubled waters of being 17 – hopefully without losing sight of one another?

[heyits-milo]

my film teacher rejected my short film idea because it was "unrealistic" so here's the poem that was supposed to be narration for it :D / TW: incel man talking

Dear Cynthia 

A summer's day cannot compare to what I feel around you, a day without your shining presence would throw my world askew. 

A simple glance in my direction can brighten up my day, like a bouquet of roses you're perfect in every way. 

Like petals floating in a bright blue sky, like the vast constellations that swim within your eyes. like birds coming to perch on an old oak tree, oh cynthia my cynthia you were made for me 

You look as if you walked right out of an ethereal dream, an angel sent from heaven who I think about per diem. 

Your beauty knows no bounds, it captivates my every move, my love for you is endless, in my heart is a you shaped groove

You and i are the salt and the sea, the sun and the sky, the flower and the bee

Forever and ever you and me shall be, I love you Cynthia, you were made for me.

Dear Cynthia

You're as beautiful as a meadow, underneath scorching rays, I seek for your everlasting approval, I collapse underneath your praise.

Your presence brings me warmth, like sitting by a hearth. You deserve my everything, your the deity of my earth

A princess you are, proper and prim, and when you smile, oh your smile, the heavens sing a hymn

“How did you get such beauty” everyone shall plea, oh cynthia my cynthia you were made for me 

Like flowers in a field, reeds in a pond, nothing can compare to you, I'd say I'm rather fond.

You an idol, a god, immortal, divine, your existence could spread joy across the entire world, i cant believe your mine.

You and I are the clouds and the rain, red and blue, love and pain.

An intertwined existence of which we can't flee, I love you Cynthia, you were made for me

Dear Cynthia

My love for you was inevitable, displayed within the stars, like Romeo and Juliet, a light of which is ours.

I will never let go of you, forever hold you in my arms, i'm your most devoted follower, i have fallen for all your charms.

You're a goddess, gorgeous, exquisite, sublime, I worship your existence, to not would be a crime.

The world is a cage but with you i'm free, oh cynthia my cynthia you were made for me.

Your eyes tell me you'll love me everyday, no matter what may come you'll be there to stay. 

Yet your action speak more, you leave me alone, ill do anything to please you, anything to be known

You and I are black and white, yin and yang, day and night.

A pair made in heaven we shall be, i love you cynthia you were made for me

Dear Cynthia

Today I saw you cry, I hate to witness the pain you face. I think I'd rather die.

But i'm quick to comfort you, provide what you need, but would you do the same for me, i think you'd let me bleed.

I deserve to feel your admiration, your devotion, your love. Yet you use me like an item, something akin to a lowly glove. 

I'd give my everything to you, my heart, my glee, oh cynthia, my cynthia you were made for me.

Each day without you by my side is a devastating curse, each day you pull away from me will only make it worse. 

I long to gaze at your beauty, to bask in your glow, i will follow you until you end of the earth, you with me in tow

You and I are a cat and a mouse, a shark and a fish, an owl and a grouse

Forever and ever you and me shall be, I love you Cynthia, you were made for me.

Dear cynthia

Why must your betray our love and leave me all alone, without me you are nothing, for your sins you must atone

My love for you was endless as large as the sky, yet yours was clearly fickle, you stung me out to dry.

I gave you my everything yet nothing was returned, I deserve to feel your love, it's exactly what I earned.

I will never not be with you, I don't care about your pleas, oh cynthia, my cynthia you were made for me.

You say you're not ready, that you'd prefer me as a friend. But I am deserving of the role, I'm kinder than other men.

They won't treat you like you need, a queen on a golden throne. My love for you will not desolive it's ingrained within my bones.

You and I are like destiny and fate, a dog and its master, fish and bait.

Despite what you say were destined to be, I love you Cynthia, you were made for me.

[astradites]

what is love? a dream. a little lois lane, clad in the little prep school skirt she hates, waiting. of course her father would never dream to be on time, so here she stands. nine. a happy age, other kids played with barbies, read fairytales. dreamt of love. yet the purple hued irises of lois lane found comfort in a love for writing. doodles. what is love? a lie. this prom dress is too tight, these pictures too uncomfortable. she hates this. (secretly, she can enjoy it — but lois lane cannot exist to feed a man's ego. she can't listen to her date talk about his life like she cares. don't you see, one day i'll be on every billboard? don't you see — i'm meant for more than this. for more than you.) what is love? lex luthor treats her like a possession. she exists as the pretty thing on his arm & it works, for a bit. lois notices it becomes remarkably easy to get what you want when you're the eye of the most powerful man in metropolis. until he suddenly thinks he can buy off your stories. until he expects something in return. what is love? a weakness.

until he comes. superheroes are fantasy, akin to dragonslayers and knights and all those books she hated. but then he picks her up, holds her tight and flies her to the sky and suddenly she understands. why romeo died for juliet. why rapunzel waited in that tower for her prince to come. superman's eyes stare into hers, his knuckles against her lips. soft hands for a savior.

❝ i'm not asking for a bodyguard clark. ❞ oh how wicked she feels, clad in her nightgown on the balcony as lois looks up at him. its so intimate — so foreign. to call him clark when he adorns that S. her S. her superman, her star, her story. all hers. ❝ — are you coming to bed? it's late. i've missed you. ❞

what is love? a love letter to clark joseph kent.

i won't let anyone hurt you. clark kent for lois lane. ♡  @astraheros

[somewhere-south-of-neutral]

I am going to have to disagree with you, because while I agree with your final thesis ("not all fiction is trying to be good representation […] if that's the only metric by which you can engage with a story, you're gonna miss out on so many incredible, thought provoking, amazing works.") I think that your original point also falls into that trap a little bit. The "True Love" reading is clearly the one that you favor, and it is certainly a valid one that is supported by the text, but, as you point out, there is more than one metric by which to engage in a story, and that includes examining other readings. I'm not saying that you should necessarily agree with those readings, but to say that any interpretation that argues that Romeo and Juliet do not feel true love or something akin to it is invalid is just as, if not more, limiting.

The person you are responding to wasn't saying that your reading is invalid, they were saying that they had a different, valid reading that connected with them, which your original point seemed to seek to invalidate.

Also, there is evidence in the text that Shakespeare may have intended Romeo to be read as somewhat flawed and rash. When we meet him he is bemoaning his breakup with his One True Love Rosaline, and many trustworthy characters point out that his marriage to Juliet is a bad idea.

Can this be used to argue that Romeo and Juliet's love is truer and purer than anything else Romeo was experiencing, cutting through his lust for Rosaline? Yes

Can this be used as evidence that Romeo was a hormonal teen prone to falling in love at the drop of a hat and making rash decisions? Also yes.

Are there many other deep and non-mutually-exclusive readings to this text? Definitely

These readings also don't have to be intentionally supported by the author, and that is OK. The fact that someone sees themself represented or supported by a story despite the high likelihood that the author didn't intend to show that representation doesn't make a reading less worthwhile, either. This is literally the Reading Queer Representation Into Everything Website.

No, it isn't William Shakespeare's job to tell us that we are valid, but if we read his work and find something validating, even if it probably wasn't intentional, we are allowed to talk about it and that IS engaging with the text.

Not every reading of a text is valid or supported, and you can certainly argue against it, but just coming out and saying that anyone who disagrees with your interpretation "fundamentally kneecaps a meaningful understanding of the story" is simply shutting down any chance at a productive conversation or debate.

Also, the "not really in True Love" reading doesn't undercut the tragedy at all. The point is that they thought it was true love, which drove them to take the extreme measures they took in the face of their families' hatred, and the tragedy that it led to is just as real. In my eyes, the beauty that is snuffed out is not the love itself, but the lives of two teenagers, who may have just been acting rashly and foolishly, but were only doing so because the adults were too busy fighting to teach them not to or to support them.

*sigh* Its that time of year where freshman high school classes start reading Romeo and Juliet.

And I'm just so tired of the "well they werent REALLY IN LOVE they were just dumb teenagers with hormones" take.

What do you mean "not really" in love? They werent real people. They are fictional characters. The story says they are in love. The omniscient chorus says they are in love. The themes of the entire play are built on the fact that they are in love.

So what does it add to undermine that except as an excuse to not engage authentically with the story? To suggest that actually it's the two teenagers fault that they died because they were being stupid and hormonal, rather than society and their families for the senseless hate that forced them to extreme measures? Does that seem like Shakespeare's intent? Does that seem like an interesting or useful reading, or as a cop out reason to role your eyes and refuse to engage with the play at all?

I understand that we are now in an age where "love at first sight" isnt really a valid literary trope anymore. Even Disney is taking shots at it. But this play was written in 1597- when the omniscient chorus tells you that they are in love, it isnt tongue in cheek.

[bunnymermaidsblog]

I came to the rescue! But this may be full of errors (particularly at the part where Talon talks something akin to shakespearean English💀 Does Romeo and Juliet exist in the fae realm? It does now!). I like it, but I hope I won't wake up tomorrow and find all the mistakes and hate it (if yes, I may edit it later, so don't be surprised!)

Bow of both the instrument and the weapon

Whether Talon left the window open on accident or not was to forever remain between him, the glass and the wooden frame.

He pressed on the strings of the violin, his fingers gentle as wings of a butterfly.

No one would hear him in the empty building anyway.

In his peripheral vision, outside the window, a figure moved geacefully across the garden, sounds of arrows slicing air following him around. Well... the building itself was empty.

He was glad that Aiden was in sight. It was almost like they were standing right next to echother.

Talon took a brath, air waltzing freely toward his lungs, precious sounds falling from the instrument like coins from a pirate's treasure chest.

The music playfully jumped at the ceiling, slid down the walls, covered the curtains. It was a child with way too much energy. A child not yet burdened by the world, one who loves picking strawberries, perhaps.

Talon was a trained guard. He was observant, good at his job, and proud of these facts. Of course, he noticed, even out of the corner of his eye, when Aiden stopped moving around outside, right across from the window.

Talon lifted the bow from his instrument, then lowered it, the light sliding down from the polished wood because of the new angle that it hit it from.

"It's rude to not pay for a performance, you know!" He shouted.

Aiden jumped in suprise, face reddening, feeling prickly and burnt all of a sudden, all the way to the tips of his ears.

Talon chuckled, opening the window wider, fully pulling away the curtains.

Reluctantly, like a child that was caught stealing jam, Aiden leaned down, placing his bow in the soft grass, then he went to the window as well.

Talon let his eyes gallop over the sight of the hunched shoulders, hanging head and the poppy petteled face. Aiden was trying to hide his embarrassment with a smile, though. It didn't help, not even a little, but Talon would acknowledge the effort.

His boyfriend looked up at him. The window was higher than the ground, making Talon look even more like a giant. Aiden rubbed his neck in embarrassment for a minute, then he grinned dumbly:

"O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name" he said.

Talon rubbed his eyes with his fingers, groaning.

"That doesn't work in this scenario. Juliet was the one on the belcony. You should be saying Romeo's line"

Aiden pouted, throwing his arms over each other with a huff, cape fluttering at the movement, face still red.

"Well, I don't know his lines"

A wide smile kept stretching Talon's face, like the surface of it wasn't nearly enough to convey his feelings. He jumped on the window sill, then swung his legs outside toward the garden.

"Let us try something else then, shall we? How about this:" For a split second, Talon's smile beacame a little more like that of a large hawk that was hunting for a tiny crow:

"Thine skin turned crimson, oh my love! Does thou body burn with fever to ash right before I? If thou shall leave with death and choose him as your lover, I shall follow thee to keep guard at the very least. I shall follow thee upon the road of my own blade, for if you burn by fever, I shall be nothing but ash as well"

Now Aiden's full body was red!

'What, you're a poet now, too?' he wanted to say, but he couldn't, for his throat had closed, his adam's apple bobbing, when Talon leaned closer, putting their noses right next to each other, so close that he could feel the tiny, invisible hairs on his boyfriend's face tickling his own.

Talon smiled, still:

"You're so dumb" he laughed.

Now to this, Aiden knew how to answer!

"And that's why you love me! Ahh!" he yelped as he was suddenly lifted off the ground, strong hands pulling him to sit on the window sill next to a large, warm body.

"Yes" Talon sighed contently, burying his face into Aiden's hair "Yes, it is"

They sat like that for a while, arms encircling each other, bow of both the instrument and the weapon left laying forgotten.

I want to read Taiden fluff and kisses but I have to write that first 😭