#berserk content

[ssailormoonn]

❛ Princess ❜

GoldenAge!Griffith X fem!princess!Reader

| YANDERE THEMES | SFW |

WC; 1.3k + | !MDNI! | TW/CW; reader is implied to be charlottes sister!! use of '{Y/n}', yandere themes, just griffith choosing his next victim, dark content, possessive behaviour

i spent a lot of time writing this and making sure everything i wrote was perfect, i hope you all enjoy😣 - honey

m.list | berserk m.list

His armor was reflected with all the colors of the light that entered through the stained-glass windows on the building: deep red and orange hues that symbolically presented unity and power in the kingdom of Midland. The weight of the moment: heavy with expectations on your shoulder, rests while you stand amidst the gathering of nobles.

"Commander Griffith," your father meted the acknowledgment, and Griffith stepped in front of the King, Queen, and the two princesses, bowing in respect, his cascading white hair lying over his shining silver armor.

"Princess {Y/n}," your father called out in command, gesturing for you to proceed forward. You step forward with elegance as the waves in your waves of elegance in your navy dress continued to spread behind you. You step with exactness, moved with exactness—in exactness, in every motion that had been rehearsed over and over before attaining the said standing you were in. The eyes of court watched observantly, discreet in their surveillance of your every movement.

The moment you arrived at Griffith, you extended your hand with fingers so graceful and poised. He took it gently. His armor was cold against your skin. His lips were elusive as a soft kiss and lingered a second too long; the kiss hung at the edges of the proper and correct.

He was flexing power in such a subtle way—it was subtle, but he knew.

There was something kind in the manner and, at the same time, some veneer into which intention had been collected.

A shiver ran down your spine as his ice-blue gaze caught yours, his eyes raising from his bow. Something predatory glistened in his eyes, something that made one wonder or a key piece of a game that only he knows if one was nothing more than a pawn in his grand design.

"It is truly an honor to finally meet you, Princess," came that smooth, well-oiled voice of Griffith's. The crowd murmured in approval; all sounds echoed through the cavernous cathedral.

Yet, somewhere beneath the polite exchanges, a person could sense something more going on here: the veiled calculations, the faint flickers of ambition that had put Griffith in this position of power.

His gaze never left yours as he dropped your hand. He was watching you, looking through you, perhaps, for the best way to bend you to his whim.

You belonged to him, whether you understood that you were a pawn, queen, or maybe something between.

It was a sea of faces, the whole of the cathedral at that moment respectfully concentrating over the play unfolded in front of their eyes. Nobles, ecleastics, distinguished guests filled the pews, eyes glued to the action being played out between Griffith and yourself. The tension in the room was tangible; together, they breathed as if they awaited the next moment.

There is something commanding in Griffith's presence, captivating in his aura, but unconsciously repellent. Consciously, even the way he was holding your hand was soft, and his kiss, in which almost imperceptible pressure was put, was calculated.

You could feel the pulse of that moment, the silent exchange between the two of you speaking volumes more than the mere touch could have done. It was as though he had claimed you, staked his territory—marking you as his before the whole court.

Your father stood immovable behind you, his face stoic, although you knew the tiny glint in his eyes betrayed a hint of his concern. Generations had passed with the royal family playing this game of power and politics, but Griffith was a new breed; he was silky, composed, with a burning will like the colored rays cast off the stained glass across his armor.

Griffith eventually released your hand but he did not break the eye contact. There was something in the way he looked at you, something that seemed as though, if he needed to, he could see through all of the falseness and look way past it.

There was something uncanny in this silence, something perhaps even rather fascinating in another way, something that simply could not fail to grip the attention. Breath was heard murmuring from all the corners when whispers spotted around in the crowd: Where the discussions carried would be so imperative in the history books for the fate of the kingdom?.

"For me, to serve Midland and its royal family is an honor," Griffith spoke, and there was just a subtle current of authority in his voice. His gazes never left yours, and you realized this wasn't just a formal introduction.

This was more.

A relationship that would all be about his control and your compliance.

Something dark glinted beneath those warm eyes of Griffith. It wasn't the supple quality in his voice, or even the grace in his movement; it was the way his eyes locked onto yours, as though no one else in that room counted.

You were regarded, Princess, as if he'd your life already mapped out: each decision you'd make.

And that, somehow, no matter what, you belonged to him.

During dinner, his eyes never left you for long. He listened to everyone else, chuckled at their stories, contributed some bromide to some noble's question, but you knew his attention was on you.

You rose from the head table; his eyes followed you, following every step you made.

You could feel the weight of it, a possessive intensity making you hyperaware of his presence.

You would see, as others tried to draw you into a conversation, his expression never waivered—just a polite smile—but that little tightness in the jaw, that cold flash in the eyes. You could see him staring as if to say, 'Back off'—with the eyes.

Featuring the eventual success of placing yourself in one of the quieter corners, far enough from the hustle, Griffith was now standing at your side, seemingly as if he emerged from the shadows. His steps soundless, his calves dragging his tensiled body closer and closer to you, so close that he might have been radiating heat.

"Princess. Princess {Y/n}," he began, his voice a bare hiss overlaid with tension. "I've been waiting for this moment."

He was so near it was unnerving; there he stood, quite imposing. It's as if he were ever growing near to your personal space, one and two feet at a time, awaiting you to crack. He had a twinkle in his eye, almost as if he were sick with pleasure.

"Great Lord Griffith," you replied, trying to hold your bearings, "I never knew you to be so interested in the lines of succession for the royal family."

Griffith's smile slowly grew slightly predatory. "The royal family is dear to my heart," he said, though his look stayed upon you. "And you, Princess, are perhaps the most interesting of them all. Your beauty, your grace, it is as if it was a destiny made for greatness; I could not conceive of this land without you being lined up in some succession for the throne."

His words were full of praise, as if he spoke with a possessor's lilt, but not like he was talking of you, but to you, and ever watching your eyes, and you were cold in that warm hall. Not that he was interested in you; by the way he spoke, you belonged to him already, as if he had a right to determine your future as his property.

Griffith touched his fingers to your wrist—just an elusive touch, and yet it sends shivers down your spine, not out of pure love but out of a silent claim, as if he were thinking of you as something to be owned or to be mastered in existence.

"We could do so much together," he murmured as his voice lowered, becoming intimate. "Just think of the power, the influence. Together, there is nothing we could not do. You're mine, Princess, and you know you're mine too, right?"

His words were a trap, expertly laid to draw you in, to make you feel that you had no choice but to agree with him. The possessiveness in his gaze, the way it seemed to lock out the rest of the world—well, that was all according to his masterful maneuvering.

You stood there, very aware of the weight of his presence. You realized Griffith was not just some leader; he was nature itself, something unbreakable by his will for something and with the intent of taking it.

Do not steal, copy, modify, etc Reblogs and likes are appreciated

m.list | berserk m.list

[paint-it-dead]

you, a regular berserk fan talking about griffith's transformation: ambition too great and continuous dissatissfaction with one's reality lead to the continous pusuit of unattainable, hollow dreams and ultimately, to the destruction of one's self

me, an intellectual: the eclipse is the berserk equivalent of conversion therapy.

[dungeon-vault]

[skrunksthatwunk]

thinking about when guts sent a bunch of his men directly into zodd's meat grinder without even knowing demons like him existed. and that moment after the fight where casca runs to griffith unconscious on the floor and tells guts it's all his fault. and the time gambino tells him he's bad luck and should have died instead. and about how he tells griffith he cares about his men, and how casca doesn't seem to see it. and the time guts is thinking about casca telling him it's all his fault (after he got griffith hurt) and then griffith comes to him and says (like it's nothing) do i need to give a reason every time i come to save you? or whatever. like he's worth it. like he's worth dying for, and like it can be a choice people make because they value you. like he's a good luck charm, like griffith needs him to reach his goals, his full potential. like griffith is not enough to make it without him. like griffith finds out when guts leaves. fuckin.g gnawing someone else's legs off because i still need mine to run into traffic

[shubbzebubs]

I may not be able to use my drawing tablet at a moment I need it most... But curve tool got my back

[thisisme337]

I’ve been on the berserk tag all day, and Griffith being the tumblr favorite is so. Ahhhh.

disappointed but not surprised. I hate it here

[tortured-griffith]

ok but like real talk. what do we do about berserk tiktok? how do we erase that place out of existence i feel like its draining my life force everytime i log on

[troythecatfish]

[faglaios]

I love going into things blind like man I can’t wait to get into berserk and the only warning I want is if I should start with the manga or the anime

[alovelyburn]

This is completely random, but one reason I tend to like Griffith fanart more than Guts fanart is that Guts fanart usually doesn’t look anything like him. By which I mean they are so often drawn by someone who just thought “gotta make him the manliest man ever” and gave him heavy features and harsh angles even though his actual face is like halfway to being bishie.

[random0815fangirl]

Omg... to be honest I'm actually no Käärijä fan, but his fandom is so much fun. You're all so bonkers and I love every single one of you nutters 😂

[swallowerofdharma]

eri reads Berserk: table of contents

I am not going to lie, I was a little bit scared of the fandom and probably a lot reckless when I started writing down my thoughts. I still have so much to say about this manga, the art alone is mesmerizing and the story grips you tightly and doesn’t let you go easily. I have been slowing down lately because I’m attempting a contextual analysis of this manga and I discovered a lot of interesting references and themes that are worth exploring: Berserk is a work of art and as such opens the doors for all kinds of things. It’s just harder for me to organize things because of how much there is to say.

Introduction

What Guts is for Griffith: a series of analyses about relationships in Berserk

Part 1: Why does Griffith want to recruit Guts in the first place?

Part 2: “Monsters like this cannot exist”, and autumnal leaves

Part 3: I have always been the monster

Part 4: Why Charlotte?

Part 5: “If you have something to protect, take up that sword”

Part 6: What is it he desires so much?

Part 6.1: Child’s play Part 6.2: The unnamed child soldier Part 6.3: You believe that, don’t you?

Part 7: Only warmth covers and protects me from this world

Part 8: You were the only one who made me forget my dream

Over Casca’s naked body

Guts and Griffith, yin and yang, and further reflections on masculinity and femininity

On the necessity for a broader methodology or other general considerations: here here here

Brief reflections on the moon symbolism: to be developed

Please consider that this is a work in progress and that I am reading and writing in my own free time and mostly for my own enjoyment, therefore there isn’t a proper schedule for new posts or updates. If you have more advice on how to improve the navigation or other suggestions please let me know. Social media are not a natural habitat for me and I don’t think I am getting it right most of the time.

[earthcookies]

at the end of the day, you are still a scared little boy

[acornminiatureslog]

Guess who used the last of his thunder hawk blue to try and airbrush a tank, only to get fed up and start hand painting it

[ofblockstarsandfeathers]

Chapter 50: Eurydice (noun.)

Wife of Orpheus; the one who should not be looked upon.

In which the Hunt makes its debut; in which Ellegaard discovers the meaning behind a Greek tragedy.

Content warnings in chapter notes!

[mrderbird]

"people should write dark fucked up stories because not everything has to be escapism" ok but what if the dark fucked up stories ARE the escapism. what then