meeleeboutique-blog

[pluviophile-imagines]

im so sorry @saintshigaraki usurper gojo grabbed me by the throat n suddenly this appeared......... (edit: went insane, if u liked the concept check out the masterlist or my usurper!gojo tag)

it’s a whisper that rushes through the guards as they lead you through the twisting corridors of the castle’s dark, claustrophobic escape routes—a frantic, hushed whisper, full of incredulous tones and wild-eyed glances at her majesty whose side you never leave, whose hand you never let go of.

gojo satoru, it hisses, and it makes your blood run cold.

the leader wears a blindfold, they say—to cover up his eyes, that distinctive blue, marking the gojo family lineage and last seen on the former crown prince, only child of a king who passed of a fever mere months before his son’s assassination. or so the whisper says, by the dim light of the torches, bouncing off the low ceilings of the corridors, spilling from the mouths of the very people sworn to protect you until their last breath.

your queen is aging, greying at the temples, wrinkling at the eyes; her hearing has been going for years yet the name rings for her clearly enough that her manicured fingers tighten their grip on yours. it surely would, for it belongs to her long-deceased nephew—not by blood, no, she has married into the family, princess of a neighboring kingdom.

your memory conjures up boyish laughter, long fingers tugging on your hair, striking blue eyes soft with first love. you dare not measure it against the terrifying description painted for you of their commander—brutal, enormous, swift, cutting down swathes of men with ease. inhuman, say the whispers, a beast, a monster.

the sounds of battle echo through the claustrophobic tunnels—the clanging of metal, the dying cries of men. behind you, two of your companions weep, clutching onto each other and barely keeping pace. this corridor will open up near the entrance to another, in your favorite library, and from there will be the final stretch beyond the walls. steeds await, one for each courtier and most of the guards. you will escape to the east, the queen’s homeland, where her family is sure to take you in.

you do not get that far.

there are men waiting beyond the bookshelf. too many; they swarm around you like wolves to a downed doe, so dense and armed, push past into the corridors to surround you. and their leader stands at their front—towering over even the tallest of men and holding himself high, blood streaking his tunic and his silver hair, eyes covered with a black cloth.

a war god sent to punish, to consume, to destroy, say the whispers—the ones in the back of your head. the guards are silent.

the queen lets go of your hand for the first time since the captain of the guard had stormed into her room and told you all to flee. she orders her men to stand down; outnumbered as they are, it will be little more than a bloodbath. regally, she approaches, head held high, much to the amusement of the brute before her—his mouth stretches wide and he lifts a wicked sword, arm so long that he needn’t even step forward for the point to press beneath her chin.

“hello, auntie,” he says, grin flashing teeth sharp as the blade he points at your queen. “i hope you didn’t plan to run off before my coronation. we wouldn’t want to miss the festivities, now, would we?”

and you still want to disbelieve, yet with his free hand he reaches up, hooks his thumb beneath the cloth, and reveals a single brilliant blue eye—a gojo eye, the color of the sky and the sea, sign of the gods’ blessing, the physical marker of one born to rule. cold as steel and directed not at the queen but at you, stealing the breath from your lungs with the manic light within.

“not when everything i’ve wanted for so long is finally in reach.”