#truly manifested that villager

[szynkaaa]

funny story, back in 2020 I was playing Animal Crossing New Horizon (like everyone else around the time), and made this post on my twitter:

I was really surprised at that time they didn't have a villager based off the Monkey King yet

AND THEN FAST FORWARD TO SEVENTEEN MONTHS LATER NINTENDO ANNOUNCES THIS BRAT

moral of the story, bribery does work. ten dollar well spent.

[22ayla21]

Honey cake and mint lemonade with Leona please!

"Honey Cake and Mint Lemonade"

Event: "Sweet Stories, Intoxicating Feelings"

To Leona, love seemed something distant, almost fairytale-like. Like a line from a minstrel's ballad, too lofty to be true. His youth had passed in the shadow of his elder brother, under the burden of his mother's expectations and unwanted attention. He was accustomed to the desert heat, to the scorching winds, and to the inner ardor that lived within him. Love seemed like a mirage – beautiful but illusory, unattainable. Until she appeared.

At first, he didn't pay it much mind. She was… different. She didn't pry into his soul, didn't impose herself, didn't lose her head over his position. She was simply there – with simple words, a quiet voice, and a gaze in which he saw not a prince, not a desert lion, but simply Leona. And this frightened him far more than his mother's instructions or comparisons to his brother.

Love, he understood, doesn't come like a lightning strike. It penetrates within, like honey slowly soaking into the cake layers – tender, sweet, revealing new nuances with each layer. First, a light touch – a stolen glance, then care, manifested not in loud speeches, but in a cup of tea left on the table before morning meetings. Then – late-night conversations, when the city sleeps, and you hear the beating of her heart because you've held her closer than you've ever held anyone before.

He watched her bustling in the kitchen, a band around her hair and flour on her cheeks. He, the crown prince, sat at the table, helping her sort spices, like an ordinary villager. And in such moments, a special feeling overcame him. Love was like the honey cake she baked for him. He ate it with a spoon, greedily, feeling the sweetness touch his palate, and each layer offered something new: the soft aroma of cinnamon, the nutty aftertaste, the light caramel bitterness. And he understood – this was it. His love. Multifaceted. Warm. Sincere.

Sometimes, when the heat became unbearable and his body begged for relief, she would appear with lemonade. Not some royal drink adorned with golden leaves and served on a silver platter. No. Real lemonade – with mint, ice, lemon slices. He drank it and felt the coolness flow down his throat, reaching his very heart. This love was like refreshing mint lemonade – light, sparkling, with a barely perceptible tartness that made every sip vibrant.

And then one day, waking up at dawn, he understood everything.

She lay beside him, her back turned to him, covered to her shoulders with a thin blanket. Her hair was scattered on the pillow, her lips slightly parted in sleep. She slept peacefully – without fear, without tension. Next to him. Trusted him. Loved him. Not for his title, not for his strength, not for his stubborn nature or sharp words. But for who he was inside. She didn't try to change him. Didn't reproach him for his laziness. Didn't tell him what to do or how to do it. She accepted him – with his desire to sleep until noon, his casual appearance, his unbuttoned shirt at official receptions. And every day with her was like another layer of honey cake – a new taste, a new sensation.

He looked at her and realized: he could no longer imagine his life without her. Her voice, her presence, even her habit of whispering gossip in his ear when they stood in a crowd. All of it had become a part of him.

Love is not a storm. Not a deafening explosion. It's the morning when you wake up and see for the first time, truly. It's honey cake and lemonade. It's sweetness and coolness. It's whispers and silence. It's her.

And Leona understood that he wanted to marry her. Not because it was "the done thing." Not because the time had come. But because love, like the perfect dessert, brooks no delay. When you find your taste – you don't let it go. You keep it close. Forever.

[zebra-rigel]

part 2 of demonic cultivation teachers Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan (warnings are in the tags: they're nothing big, but i just wanted them to be there as an option) (This doesn't include lbh yet, though my boy will be part of the shen's minor sect. I think I'm gonna progress the story linearly and we'll get to him in due time, once everything else is fleshed out ) After some thinking, I've realized that sj and sy wouldn't really have the resources to take care of a newborn, so they leave Ning Yingying in the care of the brothel jiejies and visit every month to give them money. Shen Jiu plans to let the child grow up there, but in a rare act of defiance A-Yuan demands that he buy a house and that they raise her together. Jiu refuses to consider it at all, stating that Shen Yuan's plans lack foresight and logic. At least, until the rumors of some cursed ruins reach his ears.

The interesting thing about cursed ruins, is that if treated with the right combination of rituals they become optimal places to cultivate demonic energy. Naturally, it's land like this that demonic sects build on. Shen Jiu decides to scout the location and its potential for such use.

The twins travel to the village, but as they get closer and closer Shen Jiu's chest starts to tighten, sights and places stirring long-buried memories- it's at the last stretch of the journey, talking to an old woman who sets the story straight for them, that he fully realises they are headed to the burnt husk that is the qiu estate. Shen Yuan shares a few of his memories because of that unfortunate sharing of life-force. He stares at Shen Jiu and quickly turns them around. "We're leaving, right now!" he declares.

Leaving .. can he, really? Shen Jiu remembers being afraid of this place as a slave- he remembers longing without end to leave it. Resenting it.

Weren't the Qius a cultivator family? Hadn't he- almost- ended their clan? If so, what was the next logical step of his revenge ?

Desecrating their property. "No, Yuan," he says finally. He turns to the old lady. "We are cultivators and wish to take a look at those grounds. Is there anyone we may ask?"

"There isn't," she croaks. "The ruins have been all but lost to the forest around it. No one will stop you. I for one, do not think those lands can be cleansed, but I won't stop you from trying."

Shen Yuan waits until they have walked a good distance away. He follows behind Shen Jiu and tugs at his sleeve. "What do you want? What do you intend to do?" "Wait and see," he responds curtly.

The estate is both less and more than he imagined it would be. He remembers the massacre- killing all the men after the women and children had been ordered away by Qiu Jianluo. Not a single witness had been left but Haitang, and he would be happy to demonstrate his experience in murder to her if she was still around. He approaches the supporting pillar of what used to be Jianluo's bedroom. A burst of qi dislodges it from it precarious postion and it falls into the debri around it. His resentment rises- manifests in his qi and mixes with the resentment of those who died there. It is a powerful loop, two streams of water flowing into each other eroding the sand around it. He breathes and slips into meditation. Focuses on the resentment. Slightly, but surely, he feels it strengthening his qi.

Shen Jiu opens his eyes and cuts off the flow. Turns back to A-Yuan. "Well?" he asks. "Isn't it suitable for cultivation?" Shen Yuan stares at him, mouth agape. "Yes, but- don't tell me you're seriuously considering it? This is a great cursed ground, true, but it's also- also!!"

Shen Jiu recognizes that words to express human suffering elude the elegant plant spirit. It marks the difference in experience between them- that no matter how much he is taught and learns, he will never understand shen jiu for what he truly is. A monster. "It's also the place I grew up imprisoned in, you mean? That's what makes it an optimal cultivation area. My resentment is mine to control." Shen Yuan still looks unconvinced. The next thing he says makes Shen Yuan drop his fan on the ground and stare at him with disbelieving shining eyes. He is so easily distracted, Shen Jiu thinks distantly. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

[muzaktomyears]

John Lennon and Yoko Ono: his affairs, binges and diet pills

For years the radio host Elliot Mintz was the only person the former Beatle and his wife trusted. Now, he has written a book about his intense relationship with the couple — including what really happened during Lennon’s infamous ‘Lost Weekend’

John Lennon, Yoko Ono and Elliot Mintz outside the Mampei Hotel in Karuizawa, Japan, 1977. Right: Lennon and Ono in 1980

I am holding a pair of glasses. They are antique, made of steel wire and perfectly round. The trademarked name is the Panto 45. This is the 26th pair of John’s glasses I’ve examined on this snowy night in February 1981. It’s been about two months since he was gunned down in New York outside the Dakota, the gothic edifice where he and Yoko Ono had been living since 1973.

I’ve been tasked with the responsibility of inventorying his personal effects so that Yoko, and posterity, would know precisely what he had left behind. I did not want this task. For one thing, I live 2,500 miles from the Dakota, in Los Angeles, where I host a late-night radio interview show. But Yoko asked me to do it, and I have rarely been able to say no to Yoko, let alone John.

I found their idealism infectious and inspiring. Still, as I got to know John and Yoko as flesh-and-blood friends, I began to see their flawed human sides as well.

The trio at a restaurant in Kyoto, 1977

Yoko, for one, was even more airy and ethereal in private than she was in the media. She could be a fountain of aphorisms, dispensing endless nuggets of Zen-like philosophy. Her haiku-esque homilies on manifesting one’s desires or the wisdom of the nonrational mind could be a bit much for some people.

There were moments when even I was a bit baffled by it all. Except then she would say or do something that would absolutely convince me that she was connected to some higher plane.

John, meanwhile, was every bit as charming, funny and intelligent as he came across in public. But I gradually discovered he was far from perfect. For starters, for a guy who aspired to be a world-shaking peacemaker — a thought leader on a par with Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr and Nelson Mandela — he was surprisingly uninformed about historic figures like, well, Gandhi, King and Mandela.

He also had some Luddite-like notions about science, particularly medicine, extending well beyond his annoyance at “daddy doctors” for not letting him perform his own weight-loss injections. Even though John had smoked, ingested or snorted just about every illegal recreational drug he could get his hands on, he was weirdly suspicious of the ones that were properly prescribed and proven efficacious.

Lennon and Ono on The Dick Cavett Show, 1971

John and Yoko could be incredibly sensitive, honest, provocative, caring, creative, generous and wise. They could also be self-centred, desperate, vain, petty and annoying. In John’s case, also shockingly cruel — even to Yoko.

An example…

Early one morning in November 1972, the red ceiling light that would flash whenever my hotline to John and Yoko rang started blinking. I picked up.

“Ellie, I f***ed up,” were the first words out of John’s mouth.

“Why?” I groggily asked. “What did you do?”

“We were at this party last night,” he said, ��and I got loaded. And there was a girl…”

I sat up in bed.

The party was at Jerry Rubin’s Greenwich Village apartment. A small crowd of well-connected peaceniks had gathered to watch the presidential election returns on television. As it became clear that Richard Nixon would win re-election by a landslide, the mood grew bleaker and the crowd began drinking more heavily.

Alcohol was not John’s friend and on this occasion, John’s evil inner gremlins truly outdid themselves.

I got some of the specifics from a hungover John during his morning-after call. The upshot was that John had indeed hit it off with some girl at the party and had slipped into a bedroom with her, where they proceeded to have such loud, raucous sex that everyone sitting around the TV in Rubin’s living room — including Yoko — could clearly hear them going at it.

Lennon and Mintz in 1972

At one point, a well-meaning guest put a record on the turntable — Bob Dylan’s 11-minute ballad Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands — at high volume. Yoko sat on the sofa in stunned, mortified silence.

Whatever they said to each other later, I suspect the conversation was not a pleasant one.

“I slept on the sofa,” John told me, sounding defeated and embarrassed — although, frankly, not quite as contrite as I thought his situation warranted. “Things like that happen,” he said, way too matter-of-factly for my taste. “A bloke cheats on his wife… If I weren’t famous, nobody would care.”

Yoko, unsurprisingly, felt differently.

“Are you OK?” I gently asked her when I phoned to check in on her a few hours later.

“There is no answer to that question,” she said shakily.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive him?”

“I can forgive him,” she said. “But I don’t know if I can ever forget what happened. I don’t know if it will ever be the same.”

After a few weeks of cooling down, though — during which Yoko wrote and recorded Death of Samantha, her bluesy ode to burying one’s pain for the sake of outward appearances — the crisis seemed to abate. John and Yoko chose to roll the cosmic dice with a spectacular gesture of faith and hope in the staying power of their love. They bought an apartment in the Dakota.

“It’s apartment No 72,” Yoko announced when she called to tell me about the purchase. “Do you see the significance?”

Lennon’s 38th birthday party, 1978

When you add seven and two, you get nine, Yoko explained, which was a hugely significant numeral to the Lennons, a magic integer that seemed to mysteriously recur throughout John’s life. Yoko would rattle off the number’s many repeated appearances: John was born on October 9. She was born on February 18 (1 plus 8). Paul McCartney’s last name has nine letters…

I was somewhat mystified as to why they chose this particular neighbourhood. “Aren’t you worried it’ll be too stuffy for you?” I asked John. “Will the people who live there even know who you are?”

“I don’t want them to know who we are,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t want to know who they are. We just want to be left alone.”

The Dakota struck me as one of the most eerily beautiful — and oddly daunting — structures in all of New York. John and Yoko greeted me in the vaulted vestibule, eager to begin our tour, which started on the ground floor with the new headquarters for Studio One, the business entity behind John and Yoko’s creative enterprises. Tellingly, John did not have an office in Studio One; Yoko did.

The main attraction was on the seventh floor. It was nearly 5,000sq ft, with massive windows offering eye-popping views of Central Park. Virtually everything in its expansive living room, from the plush carpeting to the grand Steinway piano, was as white as Japanese snowbells.

Lennon, Ono and Mintz at a Shinto temple in Kyoto. The custom was to hang your horoscope on a line

There was only one highly conspicuous work of art in the White Room: a Plexiglass case on a white pedestal, in which was a 3,000-year-old sarcophagus. John and Yoko had scored the very last mummy allowed out of Egypt before the Egyptian government put a ban on exporting their national antiquities.

“You should x-ray it and see what’s inside,” I suggested. “There might be something of great value, like precious jewels.”

“I don’t care what’s inside,” Yoko responded. “The great value is the magic of the mummy itself.”

Another thing I clearly remember about that long afternoon at the Dakota was how enthusiastic both John and Yoko seemed about the life they were building together in this new nest. John giddily described the “entertainment centre” he wanted to construct in a nook off the kitchen. Yoko, ever the artist, chattered about the endless design ideas she had. It was all too easy to forget about the pain and stress they’d been dealing with. I managed to convince myself that the worst was over for John and Yoko. I was wrong.

There are those who believe Yoko not only approved of the affair but arranged it. That she planted May Pang in the seat next to John on that American Airlines flight from New York to Los Angeles knowing full well what was likely to happen. That their comely 23-year-old assistant would sooner or later end up sleeping with her husband.

It’s possible, I suppose. It could be she saw some strategic long-term advantage in setting up the affair; by handpicking John’s mistress, she might have felt she could exert some dominion over his extramarital wanderings. Perhaps, thanks to her mystical advisers, she really did see that John was heading for a free fall and was endeavouring to soften his inevitable crash.

If any of that is true, though, Yoko never breathed a word of it to me. All she said in October 1973 was that she was sending John and an assistant to LA. Could I please meet them at the airport?

With his assistant and lover, May Pang, 1974

I was by then aware that their marriage was in deep trouble. Despite their best efforts to mend the relationship, the red light on my bedroom ceiling had been blinking even more feverishly than usual leading up to what would later be known as John’s “Lost Weekend”, the 18 months he spent in exile from his wife in New York.

Yoko’s demeanour back then, as always, was not demonstrably emotional but it was clear from our phone conversations that she was in pain. John’s calls were every bit as depressing.

“Has Mother been talking to you about us?” he asked during one early morning chat.

“Yoko talks to me about everything,” I answered vaguely.

“The other day I shaved and got dressed up and told her I wanted to take her to her favourite restaurant and she turned me down,” he lamented. “She said she didn’t have time. Me own f***ing wife said that to me!”

Yoko has always been a methodical person, and my guess is that she precisely and carefully orchestrated John’s eviction from the Dakota. John might not have even realised what was happening to him. He certainly didn’t seem like a man who’d been kicked out of his home when I met him and May Pang at LA airport.

“You look trim, Ellie,” he said with a big grin when I greeted them. “Have you been taking those diet pills again?”

They had very little luggage, suggesting that neither of them was expecting a long stay. My instructions from Yoko were to drive them to music manager Lou Adler’s house in Bel Air, a mini-mansion up on Stone Canyon Road.

“I need some money,” John said as we settled into my weary old Jaguar. “Mother said these could be used for money,” John continued, shoving a fistful of traveller’s cheques in my hand.

The couple outside the Dakota building in New York, 1980. They bought an apartment there in 1973

John was functionally a child when it came to taking care of himself. But then, that was what May was for. Whatever other intentions Yoko may or may not have had for the assistant, her primary job was to make sure John was properly fed and cared for, that all his basic needs — or at least most of them — were satisfied.

John and I spent a lot of time together over the next several weeks. He was also expanding his friendship circle in LA, hanging out with people like Harry Nilsson, the brilliant but notoriously hell-raising singer-songwriter. But after three or four months, much of his initial enthusiasm had boiled off and his mood was starting to curdle. He was missing Yoko: he began asking me when I thought she’d be ready for him to come home. He started spending more and more time with Nilsson, drinking at the Troubadour till all hours. After John famously got thrown out for drunkenly heckling the Smothers Brothers, the late-night shenanigans moved to the Rainbow Bar & Grill on Sunset. That’s where John and Harry and a collection of others — including my old pals Micky Dolenz and Alice Cooper — formed an infamous drinking club known as the Hollywood Vampires.

It would be difficult to exaggerate the level of unbridled indulgences that took place in the Rainbow’s VIP room, a small alcove atop some stairs overlooking the bar. The amount of alcohol imbibed was staggering, to say the least, and there were also small bags of cocaine discreetly passed into the room. Nilsson, a great big bear of a man, could pound down a dozen or so brandy alexanders — a potent mix of brandy and cream, his cocktail of choice, which John soon adopted as his own — in a single sitting.

Not being a celebrity, I was never invited to become a member of the Hollywood Vampires, but I was a welcome visitor and spent many a late night on the edges of their wild, sometimes harrowing saturnalias.

Lennon with his Hollywood Vampires drinking partners, from left, Harry Nilsson, Alice Cooper and Micky Dolenz, November 1973

There was always a crowd of attractive young women at the bottom of the steps leading to the Vampires’ VIP lair. Frankly, though, by the time the boys descended, usually at closing time, most of them were too wasted to take advantage of the opportunity. I lost count of the number of times I all but carried John down those stairs and poured him into whatever car service I had called to the bar’s car park.

For the most part, I kept my promise to Yoko: I kept John safe. But one night, I realised things were starting to spiral out of my control. Normally, John didn’t put up much of a fight when I helped him down the stairs at the Rainbow Bar but on this occasion, he resisted. He didn’t want to go home.

He pushed away and dived straight into the crowd. It was my worst nightmare: a drunken star lost inside a drunken mob.

Finally, I spotted John with Nilsson at the edge of the car park, the two of them climbing into the back of a black limousine. A moment later, it pulled away into the night, going I had no idea where.

John, I realised with a sinking feeling in my gut, was slipping away.

I was about to walk into the nadir of the Lost Weekend, John’s rock bottom. The call came not on the hotline but my regular house phone, and the voice on the other end identified himself as a security officer working for Phil Spector. John was in trouble: could I please hurry over to Adler’s house and help “calm him down”.

What I saw when I stepped into Adler’s living room some 20 minutes later looked like a scene out of The Exorcist. Drunk and wild-eyed, John was strapped to a high-backed chair, his arms and legs restrained with ropes, which he was struggling against with all his might as he shouted obscenities at his captors, a pair of beefy-armed bodyguards who stood in awkward silence nearby. The place was a shambles. John had torn some of Adler’s framed gold records off the walls and smashed them to pieces. Bits of broken wood and shattered Plexiglass littered the floor.

The couple in Selfridges in London where Ono was signing copies of her book Grapefruit, July 1971

Apparently, the meltdown had started earlier that evening at the studio, where John and Phil had nearly come to blows. What precisely they were arguing about, nobody seemed to remember. But the session ended early with Phil’s guards restraining John and shuttling him to Adler’s house, where John slipped away from them long enough to pick up some sort of walking stick or cane, which he swung wildly around the living room until the guards were able to subdue him.

I slowly stepped up to John, who had stopped shouting. His head hung low on his shoulders, his chest heaving furiously. After a long beat, he slowly lifted his eyes to me. He looked possessed.

“Get these ropes off me!” he erupted. “Get them off me, you…”

And then John spat out an epithet so hurtful and offensive, I can’t bring myself to repeat it.

I looked straight into his eyes, barely containing my disgust and disappointment. He looked back into mine. And that exchange of glances seemed to reach some shred of humanity buried deep in John’s alcohol-addled brain. Suddenly he became very, very quiet.

After a moment or two, I turned to the guards. “I think you can take those ropes off him,” I said. “I think he’s done.”

John stood up, rubbed his wrists and, without another word, slowly made his way down the hall to the bedroom, where he must have collapsed on the mattress and passed out.

The next day, as I was getting ready to leave for work, the hotline started flashing.

“Ellie?” John said. “I’m sorry for what I said. But if you think about it, if that’s the worst thing I could say about you, you couldn’t be all that bad, right?”

“Thanks for the compliment,” I said.

“Well, welcome to the real world, Mother Virgin Mary. I’m me. I have a big mouth and express meself the way I feel when I feel it. I don’t hide behind some microphone. I sing into it or speak into it when it suits me. I’m not always the Imagine guy or the Jealous Guy or the Walrus. So I said I’m sorry to you. That’s all I can do.

Lennon and Ono in 1972

“Do you want to have dinner?”

“No,” I answered. “I think I’m going to take the night off.”

For the first time I can remember, I was the one who hung up the phone.

Obviously, our friendship took a hit after the incident at Adler’s house; how could it not? For the next several months, John and I barely spent time together — at least, not in person. We would talk almost every day on the phone, as we always had, and eventually our rapport began to feel as easy and familiar as ever. But I no longer joined him for evenings at the Troubadour or the Rainbow.

John, meanwhile, had shifted from the mayhem of the Spector sessions to the slightly lesser bedlam of producing a record for his pal Harry Nilsson. The most notable thing about the Pussy Cats sessions was who else was in the room. Ringo Starr sat in on drums. And although it never made it onto Nilsson’s album, another ex-Beatle unexpectedly turned up and even sang with John, the first time the two of them had performed together since the Beatles split.

I wasn’t present but later heard that Paul McCartney and his wife, Linda, had popped in without warning, bringing Stevie Wonder with them. According to those who were there, John and Paul seemed to pick up their friendship as if they were teenagers again, but when John told me about it later, he was kind of dismissive about it, saying, “They were all just looking at us, thinking that something big was going to happen. To me, it was just playing with Paul.”

Lennon with Harry Nilsson, left, outside the Troubadour club in West Hollywood, having just been ejected for heckling a performance by the Smothers Brothers, March 12, 1974

What John didn’t know, though, was that, according to Yoko, Paul had an ulterior motive for the visit. A few days earlier, she had called me to explain the machinations behind the visit.

Yoko told me she spoke with Paul, who offered to speak with John. “I thought it was very kind,” she said. “I was very appreciative. But I made it very clear to Paul that it wasn’t something I was asking him to do. It would have to be Paul’s idea, not mine.”

To me, there was never any question that John desperately wanted to get back with Yoko. Yes, he had feelings for May, yet at some point during virtually every phone call I had with him, John would sooner or later beseech me to talk to Yoko on his behalf. “Tell Mother I’m ready to come home, Ellie. Tell her I’m a changed man.”

“I don’t think she wants to hear it from me,” I would say. “She wants you to show it to her.”

Paul, I later heard, gave John similar advice. Sometime after popping into the studio in Burbank, he sat down with John and laid out, step by step, what he would need to do to win Yoko back.

It’s impossible to say if Paul’s presentation was what did it, or if John experienced some other epiphany around that time, but over the ensuing months he did indeed begin to clean up his act. In the summer of 1974, he started working on his next album, Walls and Bridges, regularly flying to New York for rehearsals and recordings at the Record Plant on West 44th Street. By all accounts, those sessions were entirely professional, with John showing up 100 per cent sober every day.

At the Grammy Awards in New York, March 1, 1975

Then, as work on the album neared completion, John made a fateful decision: he decided not to wait any longer for Yoko’s invitation to return to New York. Instead, towards the end of the summer, he and May rented an apartment of their own on the Upper East Side. It was a small but comfortable place that had a wraparound balcony with spectacular views of the East River.

When I flew to New York to tape some interviews, I took the opportunity to pay them a visit — my first face-to-face meeting with John since the ugliness at Adler’s house. It was an awkward encounter for numerous reasons. For one thing, I had just spent an afternoon with Yoko at the Dakota, some 20 blocks away; taking a cab across town to John and May’s felt something akin to betrayal.

Perhaps sensing my apprehension, May gave me a wide berth, leaving to make some phone calls in a bedroom while John and I stood together on the balcony, catching up.

“Does this make you feel uneasy?” John asked after a beat.

“You mean being here with you and May? Yes, a little,” I admitted. “It just reminds me of the fact that you and Mother are still separated, and that makes me sad.”

“Well, that’s the way Mother wants it,” he said. “At least for now.”

Then, unexpectedly, he wrapped his arm over my shoulders and added, “Don’t look so glum, me boy. Put on your radio face. There’s nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be.”

It was one of the few times he’d quoted a line to me from a Beatles song.

Walls and Bridges was released a month or so later. John sent a prereleased signed copy (“To my little dream lover on ice, with love and old pianos,” he wrote, referring to my affection for Bobby Darin’s hit song).

As it happened, Elton John had joined John on keyboards for one song on the album. Elton made a bet with John. If the song was a hit, John would have to perform at Elton’s upcoming concert at Madison Square Garden. John agreed, never imagining he’d have to honour that promise.

Of course, Elton was spot on: Whatever Gets You Thru the Night did indeed become John’s first No 1 solo single. And so it came to pass that, in November 1974, onstage at Madison Square Garden, in front of thousands and thousands of fans, that the Lost Weekend finally began to fade to a finish.

Lennon’s surprise appearance at Elton John’s concert at Madison Square Garden, November 28, 1974

The details of what exactly transpired backstage that night remain, 50 years later, shrouded in some mystery. What is known is that Yoko, who’d been invited to the concert by Elton’s manager, was in the audience. She couldn’t have been prepared for the reaction around her when Elton announced, about two thirds into the concert, that he was bringing John onto the stage for his first public performance in two years. The crowd went berserk.

After the show, Elton’s manager approached Yoko and told her that Elton had requested her presence in his dressing room. Yoko was led backstage to a door with a star on it. She knocked, the entrance opened, and inside she saw her husband standing there, alone.

I cannot tell you what happened after the dressing room door closed behind them. Nobody but Yoko knows that, and she has never shared with me any details. What I can tell you is that in the weeks and months that followed, there must have been many more rendezvous as Yoko and John re-established their connection, even as he continued living with May in their East Side apartment.

According to one of May’s early accounts, John was ultimately hypnotised into ending his relationship with her; she has long claimed that Yoko hired a mesmerist to help John quit smoking but that it was all a ruse to brainwash him into splitting up with her so he could return to Yoko. To this day, many people believe that story. But I know for certain that it wasn’t true. Because, as it happens, I’m the one who arranged the hypnotist.

Yoko had nothing to do with it.

John had remembered that I had interviewed a hypnotist on my radio show and asked me if he might be able to help him kick nicotine.

At the Lincoln Center in New York, circa 1975

I called the hypnotist, planned for him to fly to New York, booked him a room in a Midtown hotel, and set up an appointment with John. In just about every respect, though, the hypnosis was a total bust. John told me immediately afterwards he was never put under; the hypnotist claimed John was but just couldn’t remember. The hypnotist also turned out to be something of a diva. He disliked his hotel — he thought the desk clerks were rude — and checked out the next day, flying back to LA in a huff.

John didn’t quit smoking, not for a minute, so it’s hard to imagine the hypnotist had succeeded in brainwashing him into anything else — like, say, leaving a lover. But the very next day, John did break it off with May and returned to the Dakota, resuming his marriage to Yoko and ending, at last, the long and lonely winter that had been the Lost Weekend. He called me in LA shortly afterwards to share the happy news.

He said, “Let the media know the separation did not work.”

‘He’d weigh himself twice a day’

Elliot Mintz on his friendship with John and Yoko. By Georgina Roberts

When a red light in Elliot Mintz’s bedroom flashed, it meant that John Lennon or Yoko Ono was calling him on a special hotline. “In an average week, 20 hours of phone conversation would not be unusual,” the 79-year-old former radio DJ and talk-show host says from his Beverly Hills living room.

Mintz describes the friendship with the couple that “dominated” nine years of his life as “almost a kind of marriage”. He was taken aback when Ono called him in 1971 to thank him for not asking about Lennon when he interviewed her on his radio show. When they began to speak for hours at night, she batted away his concern that her husband might get jealous, saying, “Aren’t you giving yourself a little too much credit, Elliot?”

Lennon first called Mintz to ask if he could get him fat-melting pills. “That was my first conversation with John Lennon. It wasn’t philosophical. It wasn’t about Elvis or the Beatles. It was about weight loss,” he says. Sometimes Lennon would weigh himself twice a day and the couple “were obsessive about diet”.

In Hotel Okura in Tokyo, October 1975

After six months of speaking, the couple summoned him to meet them in Ojai, California, where they were trying to kick a methadone addiction. Ono barely spoke until she was in a bathroom with the tap running. “She whispered to me, ‘This house is bugged. Everything we say here, they’re listening. So you have to be very careful what you say.’ ” FBI files released years later showed that Ono wasn’t being paranoid. President Nixon had placed the couple under surveillance after rumours they planned to disrupt his convention, Mintz says.

His clandestine friendship with the couple wreaked havoc on his love life. When he couldn’t explain whom he’d been speaking to in the middle of the night, one love interest assumed he was married and stormed out. “I realised at that moment that my love life would have to take a back seat to my relationship with John and Yoko,” he says.

There were times when lines were crossed in the friendship. One morning, Lennon summoned Mintz to kick out a girl who’d stayed the night. “I told him, ‘Please don’t ask me to do something like that again.’ He flipped out. He said, ‘I will effing ask you to do anything that I feel like asking you to do. Do you understand that?’ ” Mintz was hurt and offended. The next day was one of the few times he said no to “grabbing a bite” with Lennon.

Becoming parents was “the biggest game-changer” for the couple. After his son Sean was delivered via caesarean section in 1975, “John was outraged that when Yoko was clearly struggling, doctors would come up to him and say, ‘I’ve always dreamt of shaking your hand.’ He would bark at them, ‘Look after me wife!’ ”

While Lennon threw himself into childcare, Ono, who came from a banking dynasty, handled the couple’s finances. After becoming stratospherically famous so young, Lennon was “clueless” about money. “I doubt if John was ever in a supermarket, went to a bank, wrote a cheque. That’s what Yoko did,” Mintz says. “If not for Yoko, there’d be no money in the Lennon-Ono estate today.”

A drawing by Lennon on a postcard from Japan sent to Mintz in 1977

The first time Mintz met their son, Lennon said protectively, “Not too close. Germs.” “He said, ‘Look, we were going to make you the godfather, but we decided on Elton, because he would at least give him better Christmas presents.’ ” “This is typical John,” Mintz says.

Sean would only spend five years with his father before Lennon was murdered outside the Dakota in December 1980. Lennon had always “poo-pooed” Mintz’s requests for him to employ more security. “John said, ‘I’m just a rock’n’roll singer. Who would want to hurt me?’ ”

When Mintz speaks about learning of Lennon’s murder from a weeping flight attendant, his honeyed radio-presenter voice cracks with emotion. “Even now, after all these years, just thinking about that moment…” He trails off. The most gut-wrenching of his responsibilities was making an inventory of Lennon’s possessions. When he signed for a stapled brown paper bag that came from the hospital where Lennon was taken after he was shot, he could not bear to open it. “It was what John was wearing, what he had on him when he fell, including his broken, bloodied glasses.”

He is reticent about his friendship with Ono today. “I want to give her a sense of privacy,” he says, but adds, “It still feels like family. I still love her dearly.” The last time he saw her was at her 91st birthday in February. It was there that Sean encouraged Mintz to write his book, We All Shine On. Does he think Ono will like it? “I’ve never tried to predict a Yoko Ono conclusion.”

How different would his life be if he had never met the couple? “I could have got married. Could have had children.” Were the sacrifices worth it? “Of course. I got to spend that amount of my time with these two extraordinary people.”

We All Shine On: John, Yoko, & Me by Elliot Mintz (Bantam, £25).

(source)

[getobitchs]

What You Took From Me - R. S.

✧.* content warning : angst, fluff ig?

✧.* w/c : 1.07k

✧.* n/a : nothin

✧.* tagline : @sugurus-thoughts ; (text me to be on the next tagline)

₊ ⊹🪻 ✧ ˚i

The Heian era was a time of elegance and tradition, where the beauty of the cherry blossoms mirrored the fleeting moments of happiness that mortals clung to. For you, life had once been simple, your days spent tending to the small garden by your family’s home, your nights bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Until him.

Sukuna.

You had met him by chance — or so you had believed. A man of devastating beauty and an aura that sent chills down your spine, he was both terrifying and magnetic. Sukuna wasn’t just a man; he was a force of nature. A god among mortals, cloaked in an ever-present air of danger and power.

Yet, despite the fear he inspired, he had chosen you. Out of all the women in the land, it was you who had caught his eye. And in an act of defiance against both his nature and the world that feared him, he had married you.

At first, you had been afraid, unsure of his intentions. But Sukuna — when he wasn’t reigning over curses or instilling fear — had been a surprisingly gentle husband. He brought you rare flowers, sat beside you while you worked in the garden, and listened as you spoke of your dreams and fears. He wasn’t one to smile often, but when he did, it was like the sun breaking through a storm.

You fell in love with him, despite the warnings whispered by the wind and the shadowy aura that clung to him like a second skin. And for a time, you were happy.

But time was unkind to mortals.

Your health began to wane, your once-strong body betraying you as the years passed. You tried to hide it, to keep the growing weakness in your limbs and the ache in your chest a secret, but Sukuna knew. He always knew.

He watched helplessly as you grew weaker, his frustration manifesting in the crackle of his cursed energy. He could destroy entire villages, topple kingdoms, and command legions of curses, but he couldn’t stop the inevitable march of time. He couldn’t save you.

You died one spring morning, the scent of cherry blossoms heavy in the air. Sukuna had held you in his arms as you took your last breath, his four crimson eyes fixed on your face as though he could will you back to life.

“I’ll find you,” he had murmured, his voice breaking in a way you had never heard before. “No matter where you go, I’ll find you again.”

And then you were gone.

Centuries passed.

For years after your death, Sukuna clung to his memories of you, reliving every fleeting moment of happiness he had shared with you. He tried to forget, to bury your image beneath the blood and chaos of his reign, but no matter how much he destroyed, no matter how many lives he claimed, your face always lingered in the corners of his mind.

When he was eventually sealed, he welcomed the silence. If the world had nothing left to offer him, perhaps oblivion was the only answer.

But fate is cruel, and the threads of destiny are never truly severed.

In 2018, Sukuna awakened, dragged back into the world through forbidden sorcery. It was a strange new time, filled with loud machines, flashing lights, and a world that had forgotten his name. He should have reveled in the opportunity to spread fear and reclaim his throne, yet his mind was elsewhere.

The centuries had dulled nothing. He still thought of you. Your laughter, your touch, the way you had looked at him as though he weren’t a monster. He had lost you once, and the thought of living without you again filled him with an ache he couldn’t name.

Then, one ordinary evening, he saw you.

You were standing outside a café, bathed in the soft glow of a neon sign, your laughter carrying over the hum of the city. Time seemed to freeze. Sukuna’s crimson eyes locked onto you, his heart — something he had long believed dead — thudding painfully in his chest.

It was you.

You looked different, your modern clothes and styled hair unfamiliar, but there was no mistaking you. The shape of your smile, the way you tilted your head as you laughed — it was the same as it had been centuries ago.

For a moment, he could only stand there, staring. He had spent so long believing he would never see you again that the sight of you now felt like a dream.

You didn’t notice him at first, engrossed in your conversation with a friend. But then your eyes flickered toward him, and the world shifted.

You froze, your laughter dying in your throat as your gaze met his. There was no recognition in your eyes, but something passed between you — a spark, a faint pull that made your heart stutter.

Sukuna crossed the street without hesitation, his movements as smooth and predatory as they had been in the Heian era. He stopped in front of you, towering over you, his presence commanding your full attention.

“Can I help you?” you asked, your voice polite but wary.

His gaze softened as he took you in, his crimson eyes scanning your face for any hint of familiarity. “Do you believe in fate?” he asked, his voice low and resonant.

You blinked, startled by the question. “I… I guess?”

His lips curled into a smirk, though it lacked the malice it usually carried. “You should.”

Your friend nudged you, murmuring something about him being strange, but you didn’t move. There was something about him that felt… familiar.

“Have we met before?” you asked, your voice hesitant.

His smirk faltered for just a moment, replaced by something more vulnerable. “In another life, perhaps.”

You didn’t understand what he meant, but there was something in his gaze that made your chest ache, a strange and inexplicable feeling of loss and longing.

Sukuna didn’t press further. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to frighten you or risk losing you again. But as he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder. “We’ll meet again,” he said, echoing the promise you had made to him centuries ago.

You stood there, watching him disappear into the crowd, your heart heavy with an emotion you couldn’t name.

And for the first time in centuries, Sukuna felt hope.

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Light's Chapter 428

Brief summary: Cale begins the Purification Ritual.

==========

Quite a short chapter today as it mostly focused on the ritual preparations. And it was also full of vivid descriptions of the ritual from another person's perspective.

Of course, there were funny moments. 😂

'I'll go after the team leader.' Team Leader Sui Khan. No, Lee Soo Hyuk. We need to chase after that guy quickly before he causes trouble.

Yeah, you definitely take after LSH, Cale. 😂😂😂

Remember in the past chapter about Clopeh's determination to attribute everything to Cale and not the GoC cult? To do that, Clopeh came to the Demon Realm wearing... white priestly robes! 😂😂😂 He helped the villagers prepare for the feast, and subtly told them that the one he followed was Cale... Our pope is very serious in spreading Caleism. 🤣🤣🤣

The Purification Ritual needed a caster and a place where joyful chaos existed. Chaos was not all about negative things like terror and contamination. Because if it did, no one would join the cult. It also had positive things like pleasure and purification.

A feast was where people experienced joy and excitement. It was a positive kind of chaos, thus fulfilling the requirement for the Purification Ritual.

With the preparations done, Cale began the ritual. He placed his hands on CJG's body and forehead as he used the skill. The rest were vivid descriptions from the perspective of a villager and Clopeh.

GoC's power was like the sea as it came in waves. The sea could be beautiful, scary, and calm- it could be anything, befitting the word "chaos." But unlike GoC where there was only chaos, Cale's "sea" both had chaos and order. To quote the villager, it was harmony itself. A harmony of chaos and order. We now have another title candidate for Cale - the God of Harmony! 😂

The Purification of Chaos manifested itself as tiny grains of light that spread as a gray fog. The villagers who were touched by the fog recalled warm and happy memories of the past. Combine those gray lights and the sunset illuminating Cale's red hair, and it resulted into a truly beautiful and "harmonious" sight. At this rate, Clopeh might not even be needed. The villagers might be converted to Caleism just from this. 😂😂😂

Ending Remarks Clopeh was really serious about spreading Caleism in the Demon Realm. 😂 Next chapter would be CJG finally waking up. I look forward to his talk with Cale.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Could you maybe make an AU with Carlos? Kind of a Romeo and Juliet vibe where they’re both royalty and aren’t allowed to be together but w a happy ending?

Happy Ever After

Anon: Could you maybe make an AU with Carlos? Kind of a Romeo and Juliet vibe where they’re both royalty and aren’t allowed to be together but w a happy ending?

Song: Love Story by Indila

Author’s note: Hey anon! I'm not used to the story of Romeo and Juliet so please bear with me! Please like, reblog and share this! <33

Word count: 8.6k

MASTERLIST - F1

Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Aragonia, nestled between towering mountains and winding rivers, lay a land of unparalleled beauty and prosperity. The kingdom was a tapestry of lush, verdant landscapes, where rolling hills were adorned with wildflowers that danced in the gentle breeze.

Majestic castles, their spires reaching towards the heavens, stood as a testament to the kingdom's rich history and the ingenuity of its people.

The citizens of Aragonia were a proud and industrious lot, known far and wide for their skilled craftsmanship and unwavering commitment to their community.

From the bustling marketplaces in the heart of the capital city to the quaint, charming villages that dotted the countryside, the people of Aragonia lived in harmony, their days filled with the laughter of children and the rhythmic hum of daily life.

At the center of this enchanting kingdom stood the grand palace, a sprawling edifice of gleaming marble and intricate stonework.

Here, the wise and benevolent ruler of Aragonia presided, guiding the kingdom with a steady hand and a deep understanding of the needs of his people.

Under the watchful eye of the monarch, Aragonia flourished, its reputation for prosperity and innovation spreading far beyond its borders, drawing in visitors from near and far who marveled at the beauty and wonder of this truly remarkable land.

Princess Y/N, known for your grace and beauty, was the eldest daughter of King Alfonso VII. You had inherited your father's intelligence and compassion, making you a beloved figure within the kingdom.

Prince Carlos, on the other hand, was the youngest son of King Ferdinand III. Despite his noble status, he possessed a rebellious spirit that drew him closer to the commoners.

King Alfonso and King Ferdinand were embroiled in a bitter feud that threatened to tear the kingdom apart. The two monarchs harbored deep-seated animosity towards one another, stemming from long-standing political and personal disputes.

This toxic rivalry manifested in a climate of tension and distrust, with the two men constantly vying for power and influence. The tension between them spilled over into their respective families, creating a rift that only served to exacerbate the already precarious situation within the kingdom.

As the conflict escalated, the people of the land found themselves caught in the crossfire, uncertain of their future and the stability of the realm. . . .

"Princess Y/N, are you ready for the party?" your servant asked you as you stared out of your oval-shaped window, revealing the endless sea and the docks.

"Yes Matilda, I am ready," you muttered.

You were not. You hated going to these parties that your father organized. The grand halls filled with nobility, the endless chatter about alliances and politics, and the constant pressure to present yourself as the perfect princess made you feel suffocated.

You'd rather stay here and watch the sea forever, losing yourself in the gentle rhythm of the waves and the distant calls of the seabirds.

As you reluctantly turned away from the window, you couldn't help but sigh. The ocean had always been your sanctuary, a place where you could dream of freedom and adventure far from the palace walls.

But duty called, and you knew you had to uphold your role, no matter how much it pained you.

Adjusting your gown, you took a deep breath and steeled yourself for the evening ahead, wishing that one day you might find a way to escape the gilded cage that held you.

Your father expected you to charm the guests, forge new alliances, and perhaps even catch the eye of a suitable suitor. He had always emphasized the importance of these gatherings for the kingdom's future, and he relied on you to play your part perfectly.

Despite your own desires, you knew that failing to meet his expectations could have serious repercussions for both you and the realm.

The thought of potential suitors filled you with a mixture of dread and resignation. You longed for a partner who understood your love for the sea and your yearning for freedom, rather than someone who only saw you as a pawn in their political games.

Yet, you knew that such a romantic ideal was unlikely in your world, where alliances were forged not by love but by necessity. . . .

"Carlos! Are you sure this isn't going to get us into big trouble?" Mercutio whispered as the three of them pushed through the overgrown garden of the Alfonso family.

Carlos grinned, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Relax, Mercutio. I've done this a dozen times before. The Alfonsos are too busy celebrating to notice a few extra guests," he replied confidently, ducking under a low-hanging branch.

"Besides, we blend in perfectly. Just act like you belong, and no one will question a thing."

Benvolio, trailing behind them, chimed in, "He's right, Mercutio. Remember last summer when we crashed the mayor's gala? We even got compliments on our outfits!" He adjusted his mask and smoothed his clothes, trying to muster up some of Carlos' bravado.

"Let's just have fun tonight. What's the worst that could happen?"

The garden was a labyrinth of lavishly manicured hedges and vibrant flowerbeds, with twinkling fairy lights strung overhead that cast a magical glow on the scene. Stone statues of mythical creatures peeked out from behind dense shrubbery, and a grand marble fountain stood at the center, its water sparkling like liquid diamonds.

The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming jasmine, adding an enchanting allure to the evening.

"Just blend in," Carlos finally whispered before slipping into the crowd, his movements fluid and confident. Mercutio and Benvolio exchanged a quick glance, then followed suit, mingling seamlessly with the other revelers.

The sound of laughter and music enveloped them as they made their way toward the heart of the celebration, hoping their disguises would hold up under the scrutiny of the Alfonso family and their guests.

Carlos was dressed in an elegant black suit adorned with intricate gold embroidery, his mask a matching black with delicate filigree that framed his eyes.

Mercutio wore a deep blue velvet coat with silver accents, his mask resembling a Venetian masterpiece with feathers that added a touch of mystique.

Benvolio, opting for a more understated look, sported a dark green ensemble with subtle bronze details, his mask simple yet sophisticated, giving him an air of quiet confidence.

Carlos, Mercutio and Benvolio all arrived at the mansion, eager to have a good time. As they mingled with the guests, no one had any idea that they were from the rival Ferdinand family.

They blended in seamlessly, sipping drinks and chatting merrily, their true identities hidden from the unsuspecting crowd.

The three friends revelled in the freedom of being anonymous at the party. They could let their guard down and truly enjoy themselves, without the constant tension and rivalry that existed between their family and the Alfonso.

For once, they were able to forget the long-standing feud and simply live in the moment, dancing and laughing without a care in the world. . . .

"Everyone! Please give your full attention to King Alfonso and his daughter, Princess Y/N who make their appearance tonight!" The announcer stated, catching everyone's attention and the room came to a silent halt.

The grand hall was adorned with opulent chandeliers that cast a warm, golden glow over the elegantly dressed guests. Rich tapestries depicting scenes of royal triumphs hung on the walls, and an orchestra played softly in the background, adding to the regal atmosphere.

At the top of the imperial staircase, a majestic red carpet led straight to the throne, where King Alfonso and Princess Y/N stood in their resplendent attire.

King Alfonso, a striking figure with a commanding presence, wore a robe of deep crimson velvet trimmed with gold embroidery. His crown, encrusted with precious gemstones, rested regally upon his silver hair, which added to his dignified look.

His piercing blue eyes surveyed the room with a mixture of authority and benevolence, and a jeweled scepter in his right hand glinted under the chandelier's light, symbolizing his unchallenged power and leadership.

Princess Y/N, standing gracefully beside him, was the epitome of elegance and poise. Your gown, a masterpiece of delicate lace and satin in shades of royal blue, shimmered with every movement.

A tiara of diamonds and sapphires adorned your flowing locks, complementing your serene and captivating beauty.

Your eyes, a brilliant shade of green, radiated warmth and kindness as you acknowledged the gathered guests, while your calm demeanor and gentle smile hinted at the wisdom and strength that lay beneath your refined exterior.

Carlos and his friends were at the buffet, eagerly sampling the lavish spread of delicacies when the announcement echoed through the hall.

While his companions barely glanced up before returning to their plates, Carlos found himself captivated by the sight of you. Your graceful presence and ethereal beauty held him spellbound, making it impossible for him to look away.

The sparkle of your tiara and the gentle warmth in your eyes seemed to draw him in, as if you were the very embodiment of a fairy tale come to life.

As his friends continued their animated conversation about the best dishes at the buffet, Carlos remained rooted to his spot, his gaze fixed firmly on the princess.

He felt an inexplicable connection, a magnetic pull that made the noise and bustle around him fade into the background.

In that moment, nothing else mattered; all he could see was you, and all he could feel was the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, you might notice him amidst the sea of faces.

The first dance came soon after the announcement, and Carlos knew it was the perfect chance to make his presence known. As the music started, couples began to fill the dance floor, but Carlos's eyes never left you.

Gathering his courage, he approached with a respectful bow, extending his hand. "May I have this dance, Princess?" he asked, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him.

You smiled warmly, recognizing the sincerity in his gaze, and placed your hand in his.

As you both moved gracefully to the rhythm, the world seemed to blur around you. Carlos felt a sense of belonging and purpose, each step affirming the connection he felt.

In your presence, the grandeur of the ballroom faded, leaving just the two of you, sharing a moment that neither would soon forget.

"What is your name?" you asked, your voice as melodious as the music enveloping the room. Carlos hesitated for a brief moment, the truth perched on the edge of his tongue.

"My name is Charles," he lied. A slight tremor in his voice betrayed his nervousness.

You tilted your head slightly, a curious glint in your eyes as you continued to dance. "Charles," you repeated, testing the name on your lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Tell me, Charles, what brings you to our celebration tonight?"

Carlos swallowed hard, determined to maintain his composure. "I came with friends," he replied, gesturing subtly towards the buffet. "But now, I am grateful for this unexpected opportunity to dance with you, Princess."

Carlos and you danced gracefully before your father, the King. As the music came to an end, your father gave you a pointed look, signalling that it was time to separate and greet another potential suitor.

You leaned in to Carlos and whispered, "Meet me in the west garden in an hour."

Carlos' eyes widened momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure. "I'll be there," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

You made your way through the throng of guests, exchanging pleasantries with the various noblemen and women who sought your attention. However, your mind was focused on the upcoming meeting with Carlos.

As the appointed hour approached, you slipped away from the main festivities and hurried to the west garden. Carlos was already there, waiting for you under the moonlit sky.

"You came," You said, relief evident in your voice.

"Of course," Carlos responded, taking your hands in his. "I couldn't bear the thought of not seeing you, even if it's just for a moment."

"Carlos, I... I don't know what to do. My father expects me to entertain these suitors, but that's not what my heart wants me to do."

Carlos squeezed your hands gently, his eyes searching yours. "Sometimes, we must follow our hearts, even if it means defying expectations," he said, his voice filled with quiet determination.

"I know it might be difficult, but you deserve to be with someone who understands you, who cherishes you for who you are, not just for your title."

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your father's expectations and the longing in your heart. "But what if my father never approves? What if he forces me to marry someone else?" you asked, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Carlos stepped closer, his grip on your hands firm and reassuring. "Then we'll find a way to be together, no matter the obstacles. Love is worth fighting for, Princess. And I promise, I will fight for you."

"But how, you've only met me today," you started, your voice tinged with skepticism.

"It's something called love at first sight, Princess," Carlos teased, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "From the moment I saw you, I knew there was something special about you. It's not just about the title or the expectations—it's about the connection we share, even in such a short time."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, but doubt still lingered. "But what if this feeling fades? What if we regret defying everything for a chance that might not last?"

Carlos' expression grew serious, his eyes locking onto yours with unwavering intensity. "Feelings like this don't fade easily, Princess. Genuine connections are rare and precious, and I believe ours is one of them. We owe it to ourselves to explore this, to give our hearts a chance to truly know if it's real."

"Okay," you replied shyly, a blush rising to your cheeks. No one has ever spoken to you like this before; it has always been about fulfilling duties and consummating the marriage.

Your entire life, you were taught that love was secondary to alliances and obligations, but Carlos' words stirred something deep within you—a hope that maybe, just maybe, there was more to life than duty.

Carlos' eyes softened as he noticed your hesitation. "This world we live in often binds us with chains of duty and tradition. But sometimes, those chains need to be broken for us to truly live. Let me prove to you that what we have is real. Let me show you a world where love and happiness aren't just dreams but possibilities."

His words carried a promise, a vow that resonated with the unspoken desires in your heart.

You nodded, unable to speak any more, tears welling up in your eyes. Carlos' hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "Thank you for trusting me," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity and warmth.

He leaned in and placed a tender kiss on your cheek, the simple gesture sending a shiver down your spine. His lips lingered for a moment, and you closed your eyes, savoring the unexpected comfort and reassurance his presence brought.

As he pulled back, his eyes never left yours, a silent promise passing between you.

In that moment, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing together against the backdrop of an uncertain future.

You took a deep breath, feeling a newfound strength and determination blooming within you. With Carlos by your side, you felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, confident that love, for once, would guide your path.

"Should your first job to court me be to kiss me on the lips?" you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. Carlos chuckled, the sound light and full of promise.

"If that is what the princess desires," he replied, his voice low and husky.

He leaned in slowly, giving you ample time to pull away if you wished. But you didn't; instead, you found yourself closing the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss.

The kiss was gentle, almost hesitant at first, as if both of you were savoring the moment's significance. Then it deepened, becoming a silent conversation of shared hopes and unspoken dreams.

When you finally pulled away, your heart was racing, and you saw the same exhilaration mirrored in Carlos' eyes.

"Consider it the first of many," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "Because this is just the beginning of our journey together."

Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a blend of excitement, nervousness, and an overwhelming sense of belonging. The kiss had unlocked a floodgate of feelings you had kept hidden for so long, and in that brief, magical moment, you felt truly seen and understood.

As you gazed into Carlos' eyes, you knew that whatever lay ahead, you would face it together, strengthened by the bond you had just forged.

"How will I communicate with you?" Carlos whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. "We'll find a way," you replied, your voice steady with conviction. "Whether through letters, messages, or the silent understanding we share, we'll always be connected."

Carlos nodded, his eyes filled with trust and determination. "I believe in us," he said quietly, his hand gently squeezing yours.

"Princess Y/N! Where are you?" you heard your maid, Matilda, yell out your name, her voice carrying a mix of urgency and worry.

You turned towards the sound, your heart sinking slightly at the reminder of your duties and the world that awaited outside this intimate bubble.

"I think that's the sign to leave, but don't worry, I'll be here tomorrow," Carlos said, letting go of you reluctantly. You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"Promise?" you asked, your eyes searching his.

"Promise," Carlos replied, his gaze unwavering.

With one last lingering look, you turned and began to walk towards Matilda's voice, feeling Carlos' eyes on you until you disappeared from view. . . .

"Matilda, you saw who I was with, am I right?" you asked, staring out of your window as the evening sun cast long shadows across the room.

"Yes, Princess," Matilda replied, her voice hesitant but clear.

"Do you recognize him?" you pressed, turning to face her, your curiosity mingling with a touch of apprehension.

Matilda nodded slowly. "Yes, I do. He is the youngest child of our rival, King Ferdinand's child, Prince Carlos."

A gasp escaped your lips, and you felt a mix of shock and confusion grip you. "Prince Carlos? But how... why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Matilda's eyes softened with understanding. "I didn't want to alarm you, Princess. I saw how happy you were. But you must be careful; our kingdoms have a complicated history."

Your mind raced with conflicting emotions.

If Prince Carlos had lied about his identity, how could you trust anything else he had said

The promise he made to you felt sincere at the time, but now, doubt gnawed at your heart. What if his intentions were not as pure as you had believed?

The weight of the revelation pressed heavily on your shoulders, and the once-clear path ahead now seemed clouded with uncertainty.

Yet, there was a part of you that wanted to believe in the connection you had felt with him. Despite the rivalry between your kingdoms, there had been moments of genuine warmth and understanding in your conversations.

Could it be possible that he, too, wished for peace and a way to bridge the divide?

You knew you needed to tread carefully, but the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there could be more to his story than deceit kept a small flame of optimism alive within you.

Your heart ached with the weight of uncertainty. "Matilda, what should I do?" you asked, your voice trembling.

Matilda stepped closer, her expression filled with empathy. "Princess, you must tread carefully. Confront Prince Carlos and seek the truth. But remember, matters of the heart are never simple, especially when they are entangled with the affairs of state. Trust your instincts, but also be prepared for whatever truths may come to light."

A whirlwind of emotions swirled within you—fear, hope, and a lingering sense of betrayal. Matilda's words echoed in your mind, urging you to confront Prince Carlos yet cautioning you to brace for the truth.

Your heart beat erratically, torn between the desire to uncover the reality and the dread of what that reality might reveal. . . .

"Good morning, Princess," you heard Carlos say as he emerged from behind a bush, his mask still on from yesterday.

You were in your garden, the same place where Carlos had left you last night. His presence startled you, but you quickly composed yourself, determined to face him.

"Carlos," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

His eyes widened in surprise at the sound of his real name, betraying a flicker of vulnerability. "I see you know the truth," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.

"I need to know the full truth. Why did you hide your identity from me?"

His eyes flickered with a mixture of guilt and resolve as he stepped closer, the morning light casting shadows across his masked face.

"I never intended to deceive you," he said softly.

Slowly, with deliberate movements, Carlos reached up and removed his mask, revealing a face that was both strikingly handsome and etched with sorrow. Your breath hitched at the sight, your heart skipping a beat as you took in the chiseled features and the intense eyes that had once seemed so distant.

It was as if a barrier had been lifted between you, and for a moment, the world around you faded into the background.

"I feared that revealing my true identity would ruin the connection we had built. Our fathers have a long history of conflict, and I didn't want that to stand between us. But now, I realize that honesty is the only way forward. I hope you can understand and find it in your heart to trust me once more."

You took a deep breath, letting his words sink in. "Carlos, this isn't just about our fathers' past. It's about the trust between us, the foundation of any relationship," you said, your voice trembling slightly.

"You should have told me the truth from the beginning. How can I be sure there aren't other secrets you're hiding?"

Carlos looked down, his expression a mix of shame and determination. "I understand your hesitation, but I promise you, there are no more secrets. I want to build a future with you based on honesty and trust. Please, give me a chance to prove myself," he implored, reaching out to take your hand.

The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of deceit, but all you saw was sincerity and a deep longing. "Carlos, this isn't going to be easy," you said, your voice softening.

"Trust has to be earned, and it will take time for me to fully trust you again. But I want to try. I want to believe that we can overcome this, together."

Carlos's eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. "Thank you," he whispered, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "I promise I will do whatever it takes to show you that my intentions are true. No more secrets, no more lies. Just us, facing the world together."

You nodded, feeling a cautious optimism bloom within you.

The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, you both felt that it might just be possible to forge a future built on a foundation of truth and mutual respect.

"Good," you muttered, cupping his face to place a kiss on his lips.

The kiss was tentative at first, as if testing the waters of this newfound honesty. But soon, it deepened with a mutual understanding that this was the first step towards mending what had been broken.

Pulling back slightly, you looked into his eyes, seeing the determination etched in his gaze.

"Well," you said with a playful smile, "if we're going to start fresh, maybe we should celebrate with dinner tonight. How about you cook for me? I've been dying to taste your famous paella."

Carlos chuckled, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. "Ah, my culinary skills, eh? You know, I only bring out my best recipes for special occasions. But for you, I think I can make an exception."

"You'd better," you teased, giving him a light nudge. "And don't think you can win me over with just food. I'm expecting some serious effort on your part."

Carlos grinned, his confidence returning. "Challenge accepted. Just wait, by the end of the night, you won't have any doubts about my commitment to us."

You both laughed, the tension easing as you basked in the warmth of this new beginning, ready to face whatever came next, together. . . .

Carlos couldn't help but sneak another glance at the grand Alfonso mansion as he crept through the garden, his heart pounding with excitement and nerves.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispered, finally reaching the veranda where you stood waiting.

"Absolutely," you whispered back, a smile playing on your lips. "I've thought about it, and I don't want to waste any more time. If we're going to build a future together, let's start now."

Carlos took a deep breath, looking deep into your eyes. "Then let's do it. Let's get married. I'll make Friar Laurence wed us tomorrow."

You nodded, feeling a rush of exhilaration. "Yes, Carlos. Let's take this leap of faith together. No more doubts, no more hesitation. Just us, united in a promise to face everything hand in hand."

"Until tomorrow, princess. I can't wait to make you my wife," Carlos said, kissing your knuckles.

Your heart raced as his warm lips brushed against your skin. The way he looked at you, with such adoration and longing, sent shivers down your spine. You knew in that moment that there was no one else you'd rather spend the rest of your life with.

"I can hardly contain my excitement," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "The thought of becoming your wife fills me with such joy."

Carlos smiled, his eyes sparkling with love. "Then it's settled. Tomorrow, in front of all our loved ones, I will make you mine forever." He brought your hand to his lips once more, sealing the promise with a tender kiss.

As he reluctantly pulled away, you already felt the loss of his touch. But the knowledge that soon you would be bound to him for eternity filled you with a sense of peace and belonging.

Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

The next day, under the cover of dawn, you and Carlos made your way to Friar Laurence's small chapel. The early morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the stone floor.

Friar Laurence stood at the altar, a knowing smile on his face as you approached. "Are you both ready to take this step?" he asked softly, his voice filled with warmth and understanding.

Carlos squeezed your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yes, Friar," he replied with unwavering certainty. "We are ready to start our life together."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a swell of emotion rise in your chest.

Friar Laurence began the ceremony, his words a soothing balm to your anxious heart. As you exchanged vows, the world outside seemed to fade away.

Friar Laurence started, "Carlos and Y/N, I now pronounce you husband and wife. May your union bring an end to the conflict between your families."

Carlos said, his eyes never leaving yours. "Thank you, Friar Laurence. With this marriage, I hope my father and Y/N's father can find peace."

"As do I, Carlos. Our love will show them that there is a way forward, beyond this senseless feud."

Friar Laurence smiled, "I pray that your marriage will be the first step towards reconciliation. May God bless you both."

For those precious moments, it was just the two of you, bound by love and the promise of a future together. . . .

Later that afternoon, Carlos met with Mercutio in the secluded garden behind his family's estate. The air was filled with the scent of blooming roses and the gentle hum of bees.

Benvolio, ever the jester, was the first to speak. "Carlos, you look like a man with a secret. Do tell, what has you so radiant today?"

Carlos couldn't suppress his joy any longer. "My friend, I have wonderful news. This morning, Y/N and I were married in Friar Laurence's chapel."

Benvolio's eyes widened in surprise. "Married? So soon? But what about the feud between your families? Do they know?"

Carlos shook his head, a determined look in his eyes. "Not yet, but we hope that our union will be the catalyst for peace. We believe that our love can end this senseless conflict. Now, more than ever, we need your support and discretion."

However, he is soon stopped when he sees Tybalt Alfonso, Y/N's cousin, there arguing with Mercutio. The tension in the garden was palpable, cutting through the serene atmosphere like a knife.

Tybalt's face was flushed with anger as he pointed an accusing finger at Mercutio. "What are you doing here, Montague?"

Tybalt spat, his voice laced with venom. "This garden is not for the likes of you."

Mercutio, ever the provocateur, smirked and replied, "Oh, Tybalt, must you always be so dramatic? We're simply enjoying the lovely weather. Besides, Carlos invited us."

Carlos stepped forward, trying to diffuse the situation. "Tybalt, please, this isn't the time for old grudges."

Tybalt glared at Carlos, his eyes burning with fury. "You dare refuse my challenge?" he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "We are sworn enemies, and you will face me in combat!"

Carlos held up his hands, his expression calm and resolute. "I cannot, Tybalt. You are like family to me. I love you as a brother, and I will not raise my hand against you."

Tybalt's brow furrowed in confusion, his anger momentarily tempered by the unexpected response. "What madness is this?" he demanded.

"We have been at odds for years, and now you claim to love me as kin?"

"It is no madness, Tybalt," Carlos replied evenly. "My heart has changed, and I see now that our feud has been a foolish and pointless thing. Let us put aside our differences and embrace as family."

Tybalt's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "You mock me with your words, Carlos," he growled.

"I will not be swayed by your honeyed tongue. The time for talk is over - draw your sword and fight, or be forever branded a coward!"

"I cannot believe you refuse to fight like a true man," Mercutio spat, his eyes narrowed in frustration as Carlos once again declined the challenge.

"Do you not have the courage to face me on the battlefield?"

Carlos averted his gaze, his voice barely above a whisper. "I mean no disrespect, Mercutio, but I have no desire to engage in such violence. Perhaps we could resolve this matter peacefully."

Mercutio scoffed, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Peaceful? Bah! You dishonour yourself and all those around you with your cowardice."

He stepped forward, his chin raised defiantly. "If you will not fight, then I shall take your place and show you how a true warrior conducts himself."

Before Carlos could protest, Mercutio had already turned to face Tybalt, his sword drawn and his stance ready.

"En garde, Tybalt!" he called out, his voice ringing with a mixture of anger and excitement. "Let us see who is the better swordsman!"

Tybalt and Mercutio drew their swords, the blades gleaming in the sunlight as they began to duel.

The sound of steel clashing against steel echoed through the streets as the two men traded fierce blows, their movements swift and precise.

Sensing the escalating tension, Carlos attempted to intervene, stepping between the combatants in a desperate bid to stop the fighting.

However, Tybalt, blinded by rage, lashed out with his sword, aiming to strike Carlos but instead catching Mercutio in the chest.

Mercutio cried out in pain as the blade pierced his flesh, crimson blood spilling onto the cobblestones. He staggered backward, his own sword slipping from his grasp as he clutched at the wound.

Tybalt, realising his mistake, hesitated for a moment, his expression a mix of shock and regret.

The brief pause was all Carlos needed to seize Tybalt's sword arm, wrestling the weapon from his grip and forcing him to the ground. Mercutio, his strength fading, collapsed to his knees, his laboured breaths echoing in the stunned silence that had fallen over the scene.

Mercutio drew his final, shuddering breath, his body racked with agony. He turned to his friend Carlos, pain etched across his face.

"Alas, dear friend, I fear my end is nigh," Mercutio said, his voice barely above a whisper. "This wound, it burns like fire, sapping my strength with every passing moment."

Carlo grasped Mercutio's hand, tears welling in his eyes. "Speak not of such things, good Mercutio. You shall recover, I promise you."

Mercutio managed a weak smile. "Nay, Romeo, my time has come. Promise me, promise me you'll not forget me." Romeo nodded solemnly, a single tear cascading down his cheek.

"I shall never forget you, my dearest friend."

Carlos's heart ached with unbearable sorrow as he held Mercutio's hand tightly. "Your memory will live on in my heart forever, Mercutio," he vowed, his voice breaking.

With a final squeeze, he watched helplessly as the light faded from his friend's eyes. . . .

Carlos felt furious at Tybalt for killing Mercutio. The death of his dear friend had left him overcome with rage.

How dare Tybalt take Mercutio's life in such a callous manner? Carlos seethed with anger, his fists clenched as he replayed the tragic events in his mind.

In that moment, all Carlos could think about was avenging Mercutio. The thirst for retribution burned within him, clouding his judgment.

He knew he had to confront Tybalt, to make him pay for this heinous act. Carlos was determined to ensure justice was served, no matter the cost. His grief had morphed into a fierce, unyielding desire for vengeance.

Carlos scanned the area, his eyes narrowing as he searched for Tybalt. The coward had fled, leaving chaos and heartbreak in his wake. Carlos's rage intensified with every passing second, knowing that Tybalt had not only taken Mercutio's life but had also escaped without facing the consequences of his actions.

The thought of Tybalt's cowardice fueled his resolve, and he vowed to track him down, no matter how long it took or how far he had to go.

Determined and unwavering, Carlos rose to his feet, his mind singularly focused on his mission. He would hunt Tybalt to the ends of the earth if necessary, driven by a mix of grief and fury.

The streets that once seemed familiar now felt like a labyrinth he had to navigate to find his enemy.

As he moved forward, each step was a promise to Mercutio: justice would be served, and the pain inflicted upon his friend would not go unanswered.

Carlos and Tybalt found each other in the dimly lit alleyway, the tension between the two palpable. They circled one another, eyes locked, hands gripping their weapons tightly.

Without warning, Tybalt lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air. Carlos parried the attack, the sound of steel clashing against steel echoing through the narrow passage. The two men traded blows, their movements quick and precise, each one trying to gain the upper hand.

The fight raged on, neither man willing to back down. Tybalt's attacks grew more frenzied, his desperation fueling his strikes.

Carlos, however, remained calm and focused, his counterattacks landing with devastating precision.

In a final, desperate attempt, Tybalt made one last lunge.

But Carlos was ready, and with a swift, decisive movement, he plunged his blade deep into Tybalt's chest. Tybalt's eyes widened in shock, and he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Carlos stood over Tybalt's lifeless body, his chest heaving with the adrenaline of the fight. The rage that had fueled him moments ago began to ebb, replaced by a heavy, somber silence.

He glanced up at the darkened sky, a sense of emptiness washing over him as he realized that, despite his victory, the void left by Mercutio's death could never truly be filled.

Realising what he has done, Carlos fled in a panic. The weight of his actions overwhelmed him, and he knew he could not face the consequences.

The Prince arrived on the scene, his expression grave.

With a booming voice, he declared, "Carlos, your crimes for killing Tybalt are unforgivable. You are hereby banished from Aragonia, effective immediately. You must leave our lands at once and never return, lest you face the full extent of our justice."

Carlos trembled, knowing there was no arguing with the Prince's decree.

You crumpled to the floor, the news of your cousin Tybalt's death and your husband Carlos' banishment hitting you like a tidal wave. Tears streamed down your face as you clutched the letter that had delivered such devastating news.

The room seemed to spin, and you felt an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

The love you had for Carlos was now intertwined with the grief and anger over Tybalt's demise, leaving you torn and shattered.

Days turned into nights, and the sorrow did not relent. You wandered through your home, haunted by memories of happier times, now tainted by the tragedy that had befallen your family.

Friends and family tried to console you, but their words felt hollow, unable to bridge the chasm of pain that consumed you.

The future seemed bleak, and you struggled to find a way forward, questioning how you could ever rebuild your life with the two most important people ripped away from you.

Each moment brought a fresh wave of anguish, the love for Carlos clashing violently with the grief and anger over Tybalt's death. You found yourself trapped in an endless cycle of longing and resentment, unable to reconcile the two.

At night, when the world was quiet, the memories of Carlos's gentle touch would surface, only to be shattered by the haunting vision of Tybalt's lifeless body, leaving you torn between the man you loved and the cousin you had lost.

"Y/N! Open the window door!" you heard someone too familiar say at your balcony at night.

You were about to sleep when you ran to the balcony to see Carlos, your husband who was supposed to be banished from the kingdom for killing your cousin.

"Carlos, what are you doing here?" you asked, opening the window for him, still angry for his actions.

"Y/N, my love, I had to come back. I couldn't live without you," Carlos pleaded, his eyes filled with desperation.

"I know what I did was wrong, but I did it to protect you. That cousin of yours was a threat, and I had to eliminate him."

You shook your head in disbelief. "Protect me? By murdering my own flesh and blood? Do you have any idea what you've done? You're a wanted man, Carlos. If they find you here, they'll kill you."

"I don't care about that," he said, reaching for your hand. "All that matters to me is you. I love you, Y/N, and I'll do whatever it takes to be with you."

You pulled your hand away, your heart torn between your love for Carlos and the weight of his actions. "Carlos, you have to leave. This is madness. I can't protect you, and I can't be with you, not after what you've done."

"They didn't tell anyone but your cousin killed Mercutio," Carlos muttered.

"What? That can't be true," You exclaimed, your heart racing. "My cousin would never do such a thing!"

Carlos shook his head solemnly. "I'm afraid it is true. I was there, I tried to stop them. They were trying to cover it up. I'm sorry I killed Tybalt but it was justice for Mercutio,"

You felt a sense of disbelief wash over you.

"Tell me everything, Carlos," you demanded, your voice trembling. "I need to know exactly what happened that night."

Carlos took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "It all started when I was telling Mercutio about our marriage. Tybalt suddenly came out of nowhere and challenged us to fight. Tybalt lost his temper and attacked him. I tried to intervene, but it was too late. When I saw Mercutio fall, I knew I had to act."

You could see that Carlos wasn't lying through his eyes, which made you feel even worse. You walked further into your room, your hand on your face, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions crashing over you.

Carlos followed you, quietly closing the window behind him to ensure no one would hear your conversation.

"Y/N, I know this is difficult to accept, but I had no choice," Carlos said softly, his voice filled with regret. "I couldn't let Tybalt get away with what he did to Mercutio. Our friend needed justice, and I couldn't just stand by and do nothing."

You couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Carlos, despite the anger and betrayal still burning within you. The room felt suffocating, the weight of the truth pressing down on you both.

"Y/N, I didn't come here to discuss bloodshed and the past," Carlos said, his voice steadying as he took a step closer to you.

"Then what did you come here to discuss?" you asked, leaning against the nearest wall to face him, your eyes searching his for answers.

"Us," he muttered, looking down at the floor. "We haven't really consummated the marriage, have we?"

Your breath caught in your throat, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you. "Carlos, this isn't the time," you whispered, trying to hold back the storm of emotions. "Our lives are in danger, and all you can think about is us?"

Carlos raised his eyes to meet yours, determination etched in his features. "Yes, because despite everything, I love you. And I need to know if there's still a chance for us, if you still love me too."

You stood there, stunned by his confession. The love you once felt for Carlos was now tangled with the pain of recent events. "Carlos," you began, struggling to find the right words.

"I don't know if I can just forget everything that happened. Mercutio's death, the feud—it has all changed us. But I can't deny that a part of me still cares for you."

Carlos took another step closer, his eyes softening. "Then let that part guide you," he pleaded. "We can find a way through this, together. We can honor Mercutio by trying to build something better, something that isn't marred by hatred and violence."

You searched his eyes, longing to believe in the possibility of a future where love could triumph over the shadows of the past.

"Y/N, I want you," he said, his voice low and husky.

You looked up at him, your heart racing. You wanted him too, but you were still scared. . . .

"I don't know if I'm ready," you said, your voice trembling.

Carlos took a step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'll be gentle, I promise," he said, his fingers tracing the outline of your face.

You looked up at him, and in that moment, you knew you couldn't resist him any longer. You took a deep breath and nodded, and Carlos led you inside.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Carlos pulled you close and kissed you, his lips hot and demanding. You responded eagerly, your body melting against his.

He started to undress you, his hands skillfully removing your clothes. You stood there, trembling with anticipation, as he kissed every inch of your body.

When he reached your breasts, he took one nipple into his mouth and sucked, his tongue swirling around it. You let out a moan, your body responding to his touch.

He continued to explore your body, his hands and mouth leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he reached your pussy, he spread your lips apart and started to lick and suck, his tongue delving deep inside you.

You let out a loud moan, your body writhing with pleasure. He continued to lick and suck, his fingers joining in to stimulate your clit.

You felt an orgasm building inside you, and you grabbed onto Carlos's head, pulling him closer. "Don't stop," you moaned. "Don't stop."

He didn't stop, and soon you were crying out in pleasure, your body shaking as you came hard against his mouth.

When you finally came down from your orgasm, Carlos stood up and kissed you, his tongue delving deep into your mouth. You could taste your own juices on his lips, and it only turned you on more.

He reached down and pulled out his cock, and you could see the desire in his eyes. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he entered you in one swift motion.

You let out a loud moan as he filled you up, your body adjusting to his size. He started to thrust, slowly at first, and then faster and harder.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. You could feel another orgasm building inside you, and you urged him on.

"Harder, Carlos," you moaned, "harder."

He responded by thrusting even harder, his cock hitting your G-spot with every stroke. You let out a loud cry as you came again, your body shaking with pleasure.

Carlos continued to thrust, his own orgasm building. He let out a loud groan as he came, his hot cum filling you up.

You collapsed against him, your bodies slick with sweat. You kissed him, your tongues intertwined, and you knew that you had made the right decision.

"Let's run away together," you muttered breathlessly, your lips still tingling from the intensity of your kiss.

Carlos looked into your eyes, his face softening with a mixture of surprise and tenderness. "You mean it?" he asked, his voice filled with hope and disbelief.

You nodded, feeling a surge of certainty wash over you. "Yes, let's leave everything behind and start fresh, just the two of us."

Carlos smiled, a glimmer of excitement flickering in his eyes. "I’ve wanted this for so long. We can go anywhere you want," he said, caressing your cheek. "Paris, Bali, or even a small cabin in the mountains. As long as I'm with you, nothing else matters."

You kissed him again, your decision cemented by the passion you shared, ready to embark on a new journey together.

"You stay here and rest, and I'll pack for you," he said, sitting up with a playful smirk. "I've gotten a good eye for fashion, you know."

You laughed, feeling a sense of relief and exhilaration wash over you. "Oh really? I'd love to see your choices," you teased, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

Carlos stood up and began gathering clothes and essentials, his movements quick and efficient. "Trust me, you'll look amazing in everything I pick," he said confidently.

You watched him, a smile playing on your lips, feeling a newfound sense of freedom. "I can't wait to see where this adventure takes us," you murmured, your heart swelling with anticipation.

Carlos turned to you, holding up a sundress and a pair of sandals. "How about this for our first stop in Paris? It's perfect for a romantic stroll along the Seine," he suggested with a wink.

You giggled, nodding your approval. "I love it! And maybe a hat to go with it? We don't want to look like typical tourists," you added with a playful grin.

He chuckled, placing the outfit in the suitcase. "Consider it done. And for the mountains, I've got just the thing—cozy sweaters and boots for those chilly nights by the fireplace," he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

You felt a rush of warmth and affection, knowing that no matter where you went, as long as you were together, it would be perfect.

"Here's to new beginnings," you said, raising an imaginary glass, and Carlos joined in, the two of you basking in the glow of your shared dreams and the promise of endless possibilities. . . .

The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, Matilda burst into your room, her face pale with panic.

"Where are you?!" she screamed, her voice trembling with fear. She tore through the room, throwing open the closet doors and rifling through drawers, but all she found was an empty suitcase and a note left behind.

Matilda's hands shook as she unfolded the note, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. "Dear Matilda, I've decided to start a new chapter with Carlos. I hope you understand. Please don't worry about me; I'm finally following my heart. Love, [Your Name]."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she knew deep down that you were doing what was best for you. She took a deep breath and whispered, "Be happy," sending her silent blessings to wherever your adventure was taking you.

Matilda took a moment to collect herself, then resolved to support your decision despite her initial shock. She decided to focus on her own journey, finding solace in the thought that you were finally pursuing your happiness.

Matilda knew that breaking the news to your family would be difficult, so she opted to tell a little white lie.

Over breakfast, she calmly explained to your parents that you had taken a spur-of-the-moment business trip and would be out of touch for a while.

"It's a great opportunity for her," she said, forcing a smile. "She didn't want to worry you with the details but assured me she'd be back soon."

Your parents exchanged concerned glances but ultimately trusted Matilda's explanation. As the days turned into weeks, she continued to cover for you, providing updates and reassuring them that you were doing well.

Deep down, Matilda felt the weight of the secret she was keeping, but she knew it was what you needed.

She found strength in the hope that one day, you would return to share your incredible journey with everyone. . . .

[kcwriter-blog]

I've been thinking about how we the players know so little about Solas compared to what the writers and developers know about him and how that affects the way he is written.

I mean we know he is an ancient elf. We know he was powerful enough and skilled enough to create the Veil. We know he and Mythal were friends. He doesn't seem to have liked Andruil and Falon'Din much. Skyhold belonged to him. He removed vallislin. He tried to free slaves. He had kind of an underground railroad thing going. He seems to have had a lot of money secreted away. He painted even back in Arlathan. A lot of statues seem to have been made of him. People in the Vir Dirthara knew he created the Veil but were surprised that he would do something like that. He seems to have always had an affinity for the Fade and spirits. He enjoyed whatever version of the Game nobles in Arlathan played. He was cocky and hot blooded, always spoiling for a fight. He is capable of love and friendship.

I think that's all and it really isn't much. Everything else anyone says about him is pure speculation. It makes meta fun but its easy to get too caught up in our own ideas.

We speculate about him based on things we learn from his personal quests and what we see in Trespasser but we don't know anything for sure. Was he a slave? Was he a spirit called out of the Fade by Mythal and given a body? Did he manifest a body like Cole? Was he just a normal elf born in a small village to the north? Was he a noble and privileged or did he work his way up? Did he join the fight against the Titans? Was he a genius who theorized that the waking world and Fade could be separated? Did he use untried magic because his back was against the wall and he couldn't think of any other way to save the world? Was he a friend of the Evanuris so they trusted him enough to fall into his trap? Was he one of them?

So many questions. The writers have tried to portray him sympathetically. They want us to empathize with him. And I have to ask myself why? He is one of the antagonists. Wouldn't it be easier to portray him as not having any redeeming qualities? And yet, he is basically described as the hero who lived long enough to become the villain.

I know his detractors believe he is a genocidal, racist maniac but that doesn’t track with everything we learn about him as high approval or romanced Inquisitors. It certainly isn’t born out by his statement that he is doing his best to minimize the damage.

He truly believes what he is doing is best for the world and is willing to break it and remake it. What does he know? But more importantly, what do the writers know? Fen' Harel has existed since Origins. Devs have always planned for him to make an appearance. That means the valleslin has always been a mark of slavery even if the Dalish didn't know. The Creators have always been horrible, slave owners even if the Dalish don't remember. Which means Solas has always been the rebel fighting for what he believes is right.

Why do the writers see him not so much as the villain (although Epler uses that word constantly - he is usually the only one though) as they do a somewhat noble person who keeps making mistakes? Why is he portrayed as just a sad man who can't see past his regret and guilt. What was he like? What changed him? What did he know about the Veil before he put it up?

I get that a lot of people don't like the idea of being tied to him in Veilguard but maybe the writers did that so we have no choice but to get to know him - the good and the bad. Maybe we finally get to know Solas the way the writers and developers know him. I'm looking forward to that.

[narutothoughts]

The Hatake were not always as they are. In fact, they used to be a branch of another clan, trusted as strong, dutiful protectors of their family. But one day, when fate weaved Kakashi’s life into the tapestry of time, everyone’s hair turned white. No one knew why, but soon rumors of a god’s curse spread and suspicion was turned towards the branch members. After a string of unsuccessful births in the main family, they were banished from clan grounds and cast into the wilderness as no names.

With nothing and no one, the branch members rallied together and claimed a territory far off from the main family’s as their own. They grew green things from the rich soil and named themselves after their life sustaining grounds: Hatake, or “farmland.”

But for all their name implied inaction and serenity, they were protectors at heart with steel in their spines and restlessness in their blood. So after their grounds were claimed and settled, the Hatake went out to explore the forests in small groups. In packs some joked.

Lurking in shadows and behind ancient trees, the wolves watched their trek warily for it was never good when men ventured beyond their grounds. They always stripped the land of its life and trampled over new growth, eliminating any chance of healing. They forced the wolves away into new lands and pushed them further and further away from their ancestors place of origin. It would not happen again. The wolves wouldn’t allow it.

But as they watched, the wolves realized something was different about these humans. Their feet were silent and their presence a whisper. No creature was killed for fun then left behind. Only out of necessity. They were like them, the wolves thought. Another displaced pack hunting for food and making a safe den for their young.

The wolves grew fond of this odd two legged pack and their wildness. Grew fond of the little white haired pups that explored the forests with wonder and respect.

Thus, it did not take long for the wolves to show themselves and offer to share the lands knowingly. It was not a surprise when the pack, or the Hatake as they called themselves, accepted. The pups that ran forward to burry tiny hands in course fur, however, was. But as the wolves watched the human pups grow into sharp fanged predators, they realize perhaps it should not have been.

With each generation the Hatake pack-clan grow closer to the wolves and to the wildness around them. Their teeth grow longer and sharper, their hearing able to pick up the smallest whispers, and their noses able to track prey miles away. In turn, the wolves grow smarter, more canny, and intelligent.

But the Hatake begin to feel something inside of them, something sharp and crackling like a storm. They, raised amid the wild, do not bother to keep a part of themselves locked inside and let it release in a shock of storm born lightning.

It’s chakra the wolves tell them. The energy of the wild made manifest in their cores. It’s a blessing the Hatake know as they use their gift to hunt the ones who dare try and take from their forests.

The men they cull carry weapons that the Hatake have not had new for generation. Weapons that react to their lighting in beautiful beautiful ways.

It does not take long for some Hatake to decide to go to the source of the weapons and gather more. But by doing so, men begin know of them again and gradually they are pulled into war. Long bloody war that wears at their numbers until they are but a scant few.

When a place in a village is offered they are wary but accept. The man who offers smells of forest and growth, a memory of what their forests used to be while they still had the numbers to protect it. They could not refuse, not truly.

They ask for a compound on the edge of the village with the forests behind them. They are not asked why, so they do not tell of the wolves (summons now, for they left the mortal plain when too many of their kind passed on in the war and resources grew too few) that followed them.

But in this village they were not safe for war touched this place too. Their numbers grew fewer yet and loyalty that was once wholly devoted to the pack was now divided between clan and village.

But their traditions kept strong, and one day when a man with wolf summons went on a mission for his village, he returned with two teammates alive instead of dead.

Good his summons growled. The team first as it should be. But the village did not agree and the man was soon dead and his son soon alone.

The child grew the best a lonely pup could. Raised more by his own summons than anyone else, with the contract given as a final gift from his father (the only thing a wolf shunned by his pack had left to give).

The child found connection with his human team too, but did not realize they were pack until they were all dead and gone. It was with broken heart and severed bonds that the boy disappeared into the ranks of tamed men behind the mask of a hound. Behind the mask of a domesticated creature used for the sake of another.

But the Hatake, wild as they were, could not be kept forever. Fangs could not be dulled nor senses diminished, even as they were hidden behind one mask after another. The Hatake were deep forests, crackling storms, live steel, bared teeth, and pack. Not leashes, collars, and commands.

But the boy had lost his pack young, and his clan even younger. He felt the thrum of the wild in his blood and the crackle in his veins, yet he knew not what it meant. Never understood why his body urged him to be still and crouch low to the ground before a pounce. Why his lip drew back in a snarl before he could stop it or why his hands curled into claws before ever reaching for a kunai.

It’s probably just his ninken, he thought. Their habits rubbing off on him after so long around them. He ignores how the instincts never felt foreign to him. How they were always there, ingrained to the bone, even before his father died. He ignores that and trains himself to respond normally, like a ninja not a dog.

He trains himself until it’s all he knows.

At least that’s how it is until he’s in a fight with three kids to protect. Three kids that managed to burrow themselves into his heart and make him feel something he hasn’t in a long time. So it’s against clawed hands and barred teeth that the enemies fall with blood pooling beneath them.

Kakashi turns to his team, his pack, expecting horror at the massacre they witnessed. But instead of fear, he sees awe. He smells their feelings of relief and safety saturate the air, quickly overpowering the familiar scent of blood.

With three pups crowded around him, one yipping questions as he bounces on his feet and the other two asking for training, Kakashi feels contentment curl deep in his chest. They were his now and clearly they thought much the same about him.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

https://www.tumblr.com/demaparbat-hp/777479724789284864/keeping-her-scars-would-tie-in-nicely-with-the?source=share

Your thoughts?

"Why is Zuko the face of the enemy?" Because he showed up at her village, threatened everyone, hunted the Gaang down for months, tried to kidnap Aang several times, and even attacked Katara for daring to offer to heal his uncle. Because he's made it quite clear that he wants his father to wreck the world through war, imperialism and genocide. He attacked the Gaang far more often than any other villain, OF COURSE he's the face of the enemy.

"Subconciously, it was about the scar" No, it fucking wasn't, Katara even says as much when Zuko assumes otherwise, and she only offered to heal it because he made it clear he had a complex over it. Learning about Zuko's abuse is important to understand his character, yes, but not in the sense that "scars mean evil person." He's a bad person because, before redeeming himself, he did things like support genocide.

"From a disability point of view" It's a scar. It didn't affect his vision or physical health in anyway. The only damage it did was psychological. It's the physical manifestation of his trauma, but it did not make Zuko disabled.

"Katara's character is explored through her compassion for others" True, doesn't mean she needs to be permanently scarred just so she can relate to Zuko more (which isn't even a guarantee, see how much "We both are scarred" meant to him when he stole from Song and her mom). It's reducing Zuko's character to just the guy with a scar, and reducing Katara to just the girl that got scarred to match him. It literally removes a turning point for her character - the discovery that she can heal.

"She saw everybody, but Zuko was the only who saw her" Bullshit. Hakoda, Gran-Gran, Sokka, Aang, Toph, and even Haru and his dad are the ones to see Katara for who she is. They saw her compassion, her strength, resilience, stubborness, courage - the good and the bad. Pre-redemption Zuko only saw Katara as yet another obstacle between him and the Avatar (aka his way back home), hence Katara literally trying to leave him behind to die in the North Pole. She's not completely devoid of compassion for him (again, she offered to heal Iroh) but they meant nothing to each other at that point.

"But Zuko was just like her, right? He was a hurt kid who lost his mother to the Fire Nation" No, they were not the same. That's the point of the Ba Sing Se scene. They THINK they're talking about the same thing, but the tragedy is that they're not. Zuko lost his mom due to the meddling of two abusive adults, his father and grandfather. Katara lost her mom to war and genocide - war and genocide carried out by Zuko's family. The same family he's still going to choose over everything else, mere moments later. Zuko does not genuinely understand, and thus empathize with, Katara's situation until their field trip.

"Katara was marked by fire, perhaps in different circumstances, but it's still similar enough to Zuko's own story (hurt by the one who was meant to love you, even if Katara's scar came from an accident and not sheer violence) that I feel like it would make them connect even more easily" Incredibly forced "parallel" since the two situations are not at all alike, and, again, "I have a scar too" meant fuckall to Zuko when he stole from Song and her mom - after they had helped him heal Iroh, something Katara also tried to do.

Zuko is NEVER, ever, EVER going to truly connect with Katara before he lets go of his imperialistic ideas, no matter what situations they're put on together or apart, because THAT'S the core problem here. His racism, elitism and entitlement. Until he gets over that, Katara is not a person in his eyes. The Zuko that was horrified at the general that wanted to use Fire Nation soldiers as "fresh meat" to bait the enemy was the same Zuko that laughed at his uncle's joke about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground.

The pain of non-Fire Nation people doesn't register to him, no matter how simmilar it is to his own pain, because he was trained, from birth, to not see them as human.

[yujateaandpi]

This concept has been microwaving in my brain for so long— Sharkboy and Lavagirl but what if they were anticapitalist Polynesian demigods fighting big resort corps. Character bios below for anyone who’s interested!

🦈

Akamu is the son of Filipino marine biologist Joseph Ambong and Ka'ahupahau, the shark goddess of Pu’uloa. Raised by his grandmother after his father’s disappearance, Akamu is a PhD student working to protect marine macroecosystems. He’s professional and aloof at first glance, but only those closest to him know how reckless he truly is. He tries to act cool but he’s a bit childish and has a soft side for puns. He also has a cringe obsession with Jason Momoa.

His mana was inherited from his mother and gives him supernatural strength, speed, senses, and the ability to talk to animals. His demigod form is more natural so he takes time at night to let loose in secluded coves. After some slip ups, he’s accidentally started rumors about a horror cryptid named the Sharkman. He’s very proud of it, though Keahi scolds him to keep a low profile.

🌋

Keahi is the 140 year old reincarnation of the volcano goddess Pele. When she was ten, her village was raided during the overthrow of Queen Liliʻuokalani in 1893. She was tossed into the ocean and lay buried in her demigod form until Akamu found her in 2010. She awoke with amnesia. She stayed with the Ambongs for a couple years and became close friends with Akamu. After Joseph Ambong disappeared, she bounced around the foster care system both on and off the islands. Her powers manifested uncontrollably during this time, resulting in several arson charges.

After a tough few years, she returned to the islands to work, regain her memories, and reunite with her childhood friend. She still doesn’t remember everything, but she’s trying to enjoy her life a little at a time. Keahi is a peacemaker with a strong appreciation for the natural world. She has a cheerful disposition and comes off as naive sometimes, but deep down she carries the kind of wisdom that’s built from pain. She doesn’t like talking about her past.

Unlike Akamu, her mana was transferred directly from the soul of a goddess, making her essentially immortal. In a thousand years she will become the living embodiment of young underwater volcanoes and new islands. For now, she’s just trying to appreciate living a mortal life (and taking down some greedy tourist economies in the meantime).

I’m open to asks about these characters! I think about them. Every day.

[germhammy]

“Post Hyde meeting pt 2”

Wednesday’s eyes rolled back she turned to face the person behind her

Wednesday: Goody

Goody: hello Wednesday. I am sorry to invade your mind like this.

Wednesday: you said you would give me time to choose whether or not I wish you to guide me.

Goody: I did. And I also said I would share what happened here unconditionally. I am truly sorry for the night terrors and torment my story caused you

Wednesday: it was horrible. And not in a good way. But I have a better understanding of things. And why my mother warned me of you

Goody: I have seen what you’ve done. Pilgrim World. The clearing and cleansing of the meeting house of present day nuisances. Thank you

Wednesday: you are welcome.

Goody: have you made any progress on your decision?

Wednesday: I have eliminated one. Too much like my mother’s sister Ophelia to my liking. Mixed with a dark twisted mind that makes me look like a beautiful rainbow. The other has been distant. Refusing to come when appropriate or convenient. I know that sometimes a lesson come at will but I have not seen her since that day she first reached out.

Goody: I see. I am still willing to stay in contact with you, Wednesday. Given the care you have taken to bring our history back to Jericho. Regardless of your decision, as long as it pertains to Jericho. We are willing to help you tonight

Wednesday: We? -seeing a group of spirts manifest behind her ancestor. She recognized Goody’s mother and the others who perished in the meeting house- Thank you

Grimhild: thank you, Wednesday for bringing my daughter back to me. And for returning Jericho to us

Wednesday: there is a long way to go for that. Centuries of praising Crackstone cannot be easily erased.

Grimhild: and some will never stop. But we have been tortured tormented spirits for so long.

Wednesday: hatred burns deep. Our families are a true testament to that.

Grimhild: indeed. But one must remember never to let the hatred consume you -looking at her daughter-

Outside of Wednesday’s mind in the real world

Xavier: hello? Earth to Wednesday? -waving his hand in front of Wednesday’s face- hello?

Granny Frump: Xavier! Stop at once! Leave my granddaughter alone! Interruption of a spiritual trance can be detrimental

Xavier: oh please. Cut the spiritual crap. Wednesday is just being dramatic like she always is! All you you are complicit in perpetuating her behavior

Granny Frump: how are you even Vincent Thorpe’s son? While Billie and I never did agree with his choice to go commercial with his psychic abilities? He does still maintain a bit of respect. You have shown very little

Xavier: oh please. -grabbing Wednesday and shaking her-

In the spirt world

Goody: we cannot do a lot to affect the real world. But we can provide a spiritual barrier. There is still much fear in our village. But we are healing. Thank you again for the cleansing ritual before they tore the meeting house down

Wednesday: Jericho must be allowed to thrive and heal. If I allow you to enter me? Could you use you—

Wednesday was ripped out of her trance by Xavier’s shaking. She was in a daze

Morticia took her daughter back.

Morticia: how dare you! -slapping Xavier across the face-

Wednesday was disoriented. Her eyes were still glazed over but Morticia could tell she was in an in between state. The best course of action was to try and bring her back

Morticia: Wednesday? My little rain cloud? Come back.

Granny Frump: Wenny.

Wednesday’s eyes rolled back to normal.

Wednesday: mother. Granny

Xavier: You slapped me!

Wednesday: I did no such thing! But if I did? You probably deserved it and I should have done it long ago but Enid would not have liked that

Xavier: so you obey Enid like a little puppy? I thought she was the dog. I thought you were a raven

Wednesday balled up her fist and punched Xavier in the face. Just off center of his nose enough to make him bleed but not break it

Morticia: WEDNESDAY!

Wednesday: I told you, Xavier. NEVER MOCK ME OR MY PAIN! I have had enough of you! Next time? I will not pull my punches!

[relicsongmel]

Thinking about Iris' very open disdain for spirit channeling and how it seemingly contradicts many other elements of her character.

Let me explain—Iris prior to the end of BttT is a woman who only knows facades, covering up the truth, and only presenting herself exactly as she wants others to see her. We see this over and over again throughout the course of the story: she hides her real identity while dating Phoenix, she does damage control for Dahlia and Godot to help them avoid blame for their crimes, and she is extremely selective about which information she chooses to disclose to specific people depending on whatever role she finds herself playing in that moment (daughter, girlfriend, accomplice, etc). Her demeanor as a whole is also rather meek and unassuming, and she's shown to be exceptionally kind; she expresses favorable opinions on most everyone she meets, even those continuously treated poorly by other characters (like Larry) or those that have objectively done reprehensible things (like Dahlia).

All of this stands in stark contrast to her saying in no uncertain terms that she hates spirit channeling:

This stands out to me because it is one of very few things that Iris is completely forthright honest about in the early portion of this case. After spending all day avoiding Phoenix and now carefully dodging his questions towards her in hopes of preventing the truth of her deception from coming out (all of this while actively avoiding her responsibilities at the Inner Temple because of Larry's "blackmail" letter which also threatened to expose her "secret"), why is this the one bit of truth she chooses to divulge here? Or rather: why is this the one thing she seemingly cannot lie about?

Obviously the answer lies in Iris' past and the permanent damage that was done to her and her family due to the politics of the Fey clan, with the Kurain Channeling Technique at the root, and the DL-6 incident as the event that brought everything to ruin. Iris bore witness to her mother Morgan losing the title of Master of Kurain due to her inferior powers and the despair that caused her, then three years later saw her aunt Misty who, despite purportedly being so much better than her mother, made a mistake while channeling that led to an innocent man's conviction, disgracing the Fey name and causing her to flee the village in shame. With this in mind, it makes sense that Iris would feel so strongly about spiritual powers doing more harm than good; after all, she has firsthand experience of the damage that can be done to the women that have it.

But what of the women that don't have it—namely, Iris herself? What happens to a spirit medium, born of the Fey bloodline, daughter of the then-master of her channeling school, when she's shown to not have any spiritual powers? I'm of the opinion that Iris' hatred is not only a product of what she's seen happen to her mother and aunt, but also very closely tied to what is, essentially, her earliest failure in life—after all, what good is a medium who can't channel? Fey women are raised to believe that their worth is linked to how well they can perform the service of their clan, which is the same reason why Maya beats herself up for failing to channel Mia in Turnabout Goodbyes and Pearl does the same with Dahlia later in this case. In a sense, Iris' hatred of spirit channeling is an externalization of her own self-hatred—unlike Dahlia, who mainly copes by lashing out and seeking revenge on those who wrong her, Iris is far too gentle and loving to lay blame on any one person. But all that repressed guilt and anger still has to go somewhere—and it manifests through this one small crack in her otherwise flawless facade. The one thing she cannot bring herself to find beauty in no matter how much she tries. The one thing that should have given her purpose but didn't—leaving her no choice but to mold herself beyond recognition over and over into roles that aren't truly her own, but at the very least give her meaning where she was denied it before.

And knowing her? She probably hates that flaw more than anything.

[acepalindrome]

I’ve seen lots of fics about Emmrich wanting to have kids, sometimes manifesting in the form of intensely horny breeding kink, but often just soft and bittersweet longing for something he thinks he’s missed his opportunity to have.

And I love that, but let me propose the concept of Emmlich accidentally acquiring a baby.

It was not planned. It cannot be overstated how much he did not plan this. He had made his peace with lichdom closing certain doors for him! Of course he had longed for a grand romance and marriage and a family when he was young, but he understands that there are sacrifices for the path he chose.

But then Rook happens, and he finds someone who truly loves him and wants to spend the rest of their life with him even after he becomes a lich. It’s more than he could ever hope for.

And yes, maybe if Manfred had lived, he could have had that dream of having a child too. But he had chosen to respect Manfred’s sacrifice. He’s accepted it, but he’s still grieving. He’s accepted it, but he’s still processing the fact that he had just begun to truly think of Manfred as his son when he lost him. Having Rook with him helps. That’s enough. He can be happy with what he has.

And then he finds a baby.

He hears the poor little thing crying while he was out handling a spirit causing trouble in the Nevarran countryside, and finds the deceased mother nearby. It looks like some kind of terrible accident, but the child was spared, and after a brief examination, seems uninjured and in decent health. But the little dear is so cold, and who knows how long it’s been since she’s been fed! He can’t just leave her!

His body doesn’t produce heat on its own anymore, but he casts a warming enchantment on his cloak, bundles the little one up, and heads back to the nearby village. No one seems to know mother or baby, and he can’t place the burden of another mouth to feed on the people of this humble village. He will find an appropriate solution, he assures them, although he does gratefully accept some baby supplies they are able to give him to help in the journey back to the Necropolis.

He’s going to turn the baby over to the Mourn Watch. That is absolutely what he’s going to do. That is the right and responsible thing. He was raised by the Mourn Watch, after all! They had been good to him, provided for his needs, made certain that he was safe and cared for, provided him with an excellent education!

…but he also remembers being small and crying into his pillow because he missed the warmth and comfort and unconditional love of his parents.

…all the same. He’s a lich. Children are not in the equation. And the lich lords would surely disapprove! …wouldn’t they?

And then while he’s giving her a bottle during one of their many stops on the way back, she grabs his bandaged skeletal finger in her chubby little hand and won’t let go. He doesn’t even have a heart anymore, but it’s melting all the same.

…he’ll think about what to do when he gets home. He should talk it over with Rook before he makes any decisions about where to take the child. That is just the responsible thing to do.

He is NOT daydreaming about the possibility of actually getting to raise a child with Rook. He is NOT overcome by how right it feels to hold a baby in his arms and to make her feel safe and cared for. And he is especially NOT thinking about baby names! (Fredrica, in honor of Manfred?)

Rook is away on business, and returns to their home about a week later. There are recently washed baby bottles drying on the kitchen counter. There are a variety of rattles, stuffed animals and little toys in the living room. The laundry is enchanted to wash itself, and a peak inside the soapy water reveals a number of very tiny articles of clothing, all suspiciously matching Emmrich’s aesthetics.

Rook eventually finds their husband in the bedroom, which has now gained a very finely made crib with a darling mobile of little Nevarran beetles dangling overhead. There is an enchantment in place to play soothing sounds and muffle noise from the outside.

Rook finds Emmrich in the armchair with a baby on his lap, several blankets spread over his legs to cushion his femur bones for the little one. He appears to be playing a variation of peek-a-boo, in which he summons his glamor and then quickly dispels it, over and over. Judging from the happy gurgling sounds, the baby finds this all highly amusing.

And then Emmrich realizes that Rook has returned home.

Rook listens to the lengthy explanation, and very generously humors Emmrich when he continues to talk as if he’s still seriously considering giving the baby to the Mourn Watch, as if the man hasn’t bought out the entirety of the Nevarra City branch of Baby Gap in the week Rook was gone. Of course, dear, you were just picking up a few essentials while you decided what to do. You bought the baby a tiny little outfit that perfectly matches the color scheme of your favorite robes. There are six different rattles and teethers on your desk. Where on earth did you find diaper pins decorated with little skulls? Only the bare necessities, clearly.

“I never seriously thought about having kids,” Rook says, after they’re done with the gentle ribbing. “It was just kind of a nice idea, you know? Settling down, raising a kid. I assumed I’d probably die young, leading the life I do. But seeing you holding a baby…it looks right. It feels right.”

“It feels right to me as well, dearest.”

They spend the rest of the night talking about it. The logistics of raising a child. The changes they’ll need to make. How all of this will work. But they decide to try. They want to try.

Predictably, the lich lords aren’t entirely approving. This is unprecedented behavior. Many liches have had spouses and children, but it was all well before they achieved lichdom. To become a lich, and then allow all these very mortal attachments? It does not seem entirely wise to them. But there is nothing technically disallowing it. Tread carefully, Young Volkarin.

And he does. He does everything in his power to uphold his responsibilities as a lich, while still being the best possible husband and father. Little Fredrica grows up surrounded by love and care and happiness.

And then, many years later, Rook dies. It was the natural end of a long life well lived. They passed peacefully in their own bed.

Emmrich is heartbroken, of course. But he isn’t alone. He has Fredrica, who is by now grown and with a spouse and children of her own, and they lean on and support each other through their grief. The lich lords had worried how such attachments might have twisted him, pushed him to terrible lengths, but instead it’s those attachments that allow him to carry on through the grief.

Many more years pass, and Fredrica dies. Emmrich buries her in the plot next to Rook and his parents. His grandchildren and great grandchildren are there to help him grieve, and to be helped by him in turn.

It never stops hurting, losing the people he loves, but he’s never alone. He has a family, one that grows with each new generation, and he loves and cherishes them all.

Some day, very many years down the road, a young mage with the surname Volkarin is officially made a Mourn Watcher at his graduation ceremony, while his great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather watches with pride. He is very old, and very happy.

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: Demon Slayer

Character: Genya Shinazugawa

Pairing: Romantic

Type: Concept

Darling could be a demon slayer or a civilian (cause that'd make him like 10 times more overprotective 💀) but whichever is fine ofc. Also fem! Darling, please 🙏

-🥝 anon

Sure! I kept it gender neutral as no pronouns are used in this, my bad :( It's easier to do general concepts to cover behavior without mentions of the reader's gender. But I hope you enjoy it regardless 🥺.

Yandere! Genya Shinazugawa Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Overprotective behavior, Jealousy, Threats, Isolation, Biting, Blood, Kidnapping, Delusional behavior, Possessive behavior, Forced relationship.

Genya is originally a lone wolf character, not usually wanting to work with anyone.

When you first meet him, he's no doubt brash, impatient, and rude.

So I imagine he isn't very nice to his obsession at first if they're a Demon Slayer.

You may originally try to be nice... Only to just resort to ignoring Genya due to his abrasive nature.

Where I can see his obsession truly starting is when he begins to learn teamwork with others.

Which, I believe, is after the Sword Village Arc?

After this he's more open to cooperation and sociable.

This is where I can also mention a civilian obsession.

Genya is said to be less ill-mannered towards those he likes.

He's protective in general and is especially caring towards those he views as family.

Tanjiro definitely made this man a better person.

Under that gruff exterior, Genya is super caring.

Once he admits the feelings he has for you to himself... He's a protective yandere with the one he adores.

Even more if you're a crush.

I feel once you get past the rough exterior he has... Genya can be really sweet.

If you're a Demon Slayer, he wants to train with you.

If you're a civilian, he wants to protect you.

Yet one way or another... He'd do anything to ensure your safety.

I definitely agree with you that either way he'd be protective... but if you can't defend yourself, he's worse.

If you're a Demon Slayer, then he often trains with you and looks out for you.

During missions he no doubt wants to come along, strong demon or not.

Genya also seems like he'd be ruthless when it comes to protecting the one he loves.

After all, he has the ability to consume demon flesh...

So I can also see him being a bit of a feral yandere at times due to that ability.

When I think of a civilian obsession, I feel it means anything that’s not a Demon Slayer.

You could work as a medic at one of the bases... or really just be a civilian Genya helped save.

He'd definitely feel like he needs to protect you more.

You know no breathing techniques... which makes you a sitting duck without wisteria or sunlight.

Which means Genya needs to work extra hard to ensure no demon gets you.

He's extra paranoid about it due to what happened with his family.

He doesn't want to witness another loved one turned into a demon or mauled.

You mean too much to him.

I like to imagine Genya tries to keep up the stoic and gruff persona around you at first.

But your voice and concern for him make him falter... His cheeks warm when you're near.

Even when he's nicer and more social... He acts shy around you at times.

Let's be honest, he probably struggles processing romantic love.

He's closed himself off from so many people he has trouble facing his feelings for you.

Most of the time his obsession with you manifests with a powerful need to protect.

He may have desires to isolate you... He may even distrust others around you.

Such distrust acts like jealousy... but he can barely tell the difference at times.

He tells himself he doesn't like others around you because he doesn't trust them to protect you like he can...

Yet even then, it may just be him trying to rationalize a primal jealous feeling he has.

One thing unique to Genya is his technique.

His demon technique makes me wonder if that would alter his views of his obsession.

Demons can be animalistic creatures driven by desire.

So, imagine if Genya was more possessive than protective when his demon ability is used.

He'd be a bit animalistic at times, maybe even losing control briefly.

Which means, if you're a slayer and working with him, he may get more brutal with the demon you're fighting...

Or perhaps even corner you when the fighting ends?

Similar thing could happen if you weren't a Slayer, where he'll dispatch the demon attacking you with his ability before stalking closer.

He's scary when using his demon ability.

The eyes, teeth, claws....

You're shaking when he stares down at you with a dark hunger in his gaze.

Usually Genya will get himself under control, quickly apologizing when back to normal when he sees your fear.

He doesn't want to scare you... He just wants to protect you!

Although... The idea of what would happen if he lost control...?

He'd probably not intentionally harm you...

Yet he would be animalistic, not letting anyone else near you.

Demon, Slayer, doesn't matter who comes close...

Genya's demon ability reflects his innermost desires.

Even if he's holding off on confessing, in his demonic actions... with how possessive he is...

You can probably get an idea.

He may even nip you instinctively, which terrifies you when you feel blood trickle down your skin.

He's capable of possessive feelings, yet it's usually when his state of mind is corrupted like during his technique.

But he's, ironically, often fighting his inner demons when it comes to you.

He hates the idea of you being in danger... and he hates it when you ignore him.

By this point you'd probably only ignore him out of fear, as he'd stop being rude with you.

You'd avoid him due to fear of his ability and how he acts during said ability.

Which makes Genya feel guilty.

When it comes to yanderes protecting their beloved, they'd do nearly anything.

Such as isolation, violence, kidnapping....

Imagine if Genya, regardless of if you're a Slayer or civilian, ends up isolating you.

At first it's just socially... He wants you to be beside him.

To the point, as he can still be rather gruff, he threatens others around you.

That is until, maybe he snaps....

Imagine Genya kidnapping you just to keep you safe in some house surrounded by wisteria.

He claims your disappearance is a tragedy...

That you died in some demon attack.

Due to this, not many may question Genya's absence.

They knew you two were close, that he's probably mourning.

In reality he's keeping you in a secluded location and making sure no demon or Slayer finds you.

Genya fears losing those he loves, his brother won't even talk to him and the rest of his family is dead.

Genya's deepest desire is to keep you safe... To keep you in general....

At some point he won't care if he kidnapped you or not.

He doesn't care if he has to consume the flesh of countless demons or spill their blood in front of you.

He loves you... and he wants to prove he does by doing what he's doing.

What may make this worse if he probably didn't even confess properly before this.

It would probably come up when he's trying to explain why he did this.

Which, again, makes you cry instead of smile.

Yes, him admitting he loved you before all of this might've been cute.

Especially when he stutters or blushes.

But when he looks desperate and delusional, trying so hard to prevent your tears?

He looks deranged.

Even more so when he leans in to kiss you, only to show irritation when you pull away.

You can squirm all you want... but he's stronger.

Stronger and more determined.

Genya may be a demon slayer who just wants to protect those he loves...

But in reality, he's about as close to a selfish demon as you can get compared to other Slayers...

Is it really protecting and loving you if he cages and hides you like an animal?

[lilacxquartz]

TO SAVE A BROKEN SOUL • suguru geto x cursed spirit fem!reader

ao3 link • masterlist • < previous chapter • final chapter >

summary: trying to talk himself out of doing something he might regret, he attempts to get to know more about you.

Chapter 6. Origins

Almost as if refusing to let go of you after that moment, Suguru held onto you so tight as if he were about to lose you. With such care and love that he could have given to something human, but it was to something like you instead.

Despite everything, he still desperately tried to convince himself that there was something more to you than what you truly were.

Especially when he got lost in your void-like eyes again and again, staring as though into space and looking for a glimmer of hope, yet the stars didn’t quite exist.

“How old are you?” he asked after a while, quietly dreading the answer. Suguru knew that cursed spirits could look different like that.

“About… fifty, I believe,” you replied in a considerate hum, reluctantly accepting his attempt to make conversation with you. As long as he wasn’t trying to kill you actively, you supposed.

You didn’t quite know otherwise, but you remembered watching as the times at least somewhat changed.

Suguru blanked for a moment, his eyes glossing over your ageless skin. “I guess… you’re not human, so you don’t age the same way.”

A mutual silence was exchange between the two of you as he ran his fingers across your features, your eyes tracking him as he couldn’t help but explore.

Suguru wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for when he kept on touching you the way that he did, maybe though, he was trying to find positivity in you even if it didn’t fully exist.

In an attempt to break the silence as a means of understanding you further, he pulled you in just a little closer to his chest. “So, what have you been… doing… for the last fifty years?”

“Trying to stay out of the way, mostly,” you replied, a solemn look entering your features.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right,” he noted, his brows furrowing as he adopted a pinched look, some guilt manifesting as he remembered that just some time ago, you were quite literally a free spirit and he took that from you. “That’s what you tried to when you ran away from the temple, right? Tried to get out of my way?”

You nodded.

Pausing, he tried his best to steer the conversation forward. “Did you just live there and do nothing else…? Just roam around and hunt animals?”

“Yes,” you calmly nodded again.

“Sounds simple enough, maybe even boring,” he considered, unable to imagine such a lifestyle because he was still so very used to living in at least something that resembled a society.

You tried to retain a calm tone despite still feeling a hint of danger in the air, “It’s subjective.”

Suguru could only nod back, doing his best to understand. He tried to keep his tone as sweet as possible to retain your full attention despite something darker warring within him, even if it didn't make that much of a difference to you.

“Do you… remember how you were bor—how you… came to be?” he asked you, curious to know as much as he possibly could.

“It’s nothing extraordinary,” you replied, “I’ve just always been around. That’s essentially it.”

“You’re a special grade from what I can tell though, so your existence had to have been… materialised, only if you were born from something that had a lot of hatred within it,” he spoke.

You hummed in a curious tone. “Well, my origins come from a village but that’s all I know,” you thought about it for a second longer though, “it wasn’t anything special, but I could always find my way back home. Although, it seems to be destroyed now. Just ruins remain.”

Years ago, Suguru massacred a village to take on revenge for the girls he now treats as his own two daughters, a justified punishment well deserved to make up for the cruelty of non-sorcerers. He wondered if it was too much of a coincidence if it was the very same village he took down, or if it was too much of a stretch to consider. It would have been a sick, cruel joke if you were from that area, born from the heaping negativity and hatred forged from the very same villagers that he took down by his own hands.

A part of him refused to accept such a possibility and he quickly dismissed the idea in an attempt to convince himself that it surely couldn’t have been that very same village.

As he reflected on a conversation he had those same many years ago with Yuki Tsukumo, he recalled their discussion about cursed spirits and energy; about the symptoms of it and the root causes. Yuki had always been critical about how Jujutsu society merely addressed the symptom of the cursed spirit’s existence while she wanted to advocate for tackling the root cause. He, on the other hand, had always perceived cursed spirits as what they were; simply just manifestations of negative human energy and nothing more.

But then he had to go and meet you.

A thought slipped into his mind. Perhaps you were a consequence yourself of the village you were born from and should you be exorcised, then that would be just another instance of treating the symptom. Ironically, by massacring everyone in the village, he had unwittingly put Yuki’s research to the test by attempting to eliminate the cause. Yet, you still existed despite your home being lost to you and you weren’t mimicking the same hatred you were born within because you didn’t live in it.

This little tidbit of information made him feel suddenly uncertain, maybe just as lost as he was when he was just a teenager and still trying to figure everything out.

For example, he still hated those villagers with a burning passion even though he would never have to see them again and neither would the girls, but he still found himself liking you—someone who was born from likely the same sort of negativity—what a mind fuck this whole mess was.

And the more he thought about that period, the more and more confused he felt. Everything seemed to always lead back to the causes of cursed spirits and even now, as you lay beside him in his bed, your back pushed up against his chest, he had no real damn clue as what to really think.

“Do you feel any remorse for the people you feed from?” he asked, seeking to gain a new perspective from you. He had made a decision already, but wanted to hear it from your side.

“Yes… or something close to it,” you confirmed, “I don’t like doing it, that’s why I preferred to hunt in the woods.”

Suguru nodded, understanding properly now that you were indeed different from the villagers, at least in your own way. Maybe it hadn’t even been that village at all. He scoffed at the thought regardless; they wouldn’t have been able to create something like you.

Suguru held tightly onto you as he fell asleep, finding a strange sort of comfort when so relaxed in your presence.

Yet, you remained awake with racing thoughts going haywire in your mind, feeling completely and utterly restless.

You weren’t being confined in the pocket anymore.

So could you technically… just leave?

~~~

Slipping out while he still had his guard down, you crept out of his room, out of his house and raced towards the trees; back to the wilderness where you belonged.

You ran as fast as you could, your stealthy instincts allowing you move relatively unnoticed in the dark. It was how you hunted; by blending seamlessly into the shadows c but lately, you hadn’t had the chance to use it just as effectively.

Maybe you were becoming more human after all, desperate for a place to belong.

But it couldn’t have been back there.

So you attempted to leave, right then and there, blending back into the shadows and off into the inviting forest. The clothes that he had given you felt wrong on your skin as though posing as a constant reminder of the life you were so desperately attempting to flee from.

You missed everything about your own life, but especially just the simple act of being free.

Of being uncontained.

Settling quickly into the woods, you settled on a different forest so that if he chased you, he couldn’t find you so easily again. It wasn’t the same trees that you loved but you were at least finally far, far away from him.

For him to have called your old life boring, was nothing when compared to the life he forced you to endure as his prisoner.

Cursed spirit or not, you longed to be free and now, free you were.

Everything felt so right all of a sudden and you were desperately hopeful to settle back into a life that you loved. For the first time in a long while, you got to experience what it truly meant to be alive and it tasted sweeter than anything you had ever known.

Suguru woke up in the morning completely alone however with you nowhere to be seen or heard, but he knew you pretty damn well at this point and where exactly you would run off to.

He’d find you again, but this time, he wouldn’t let you go.

In the truest way and form.

~~~

this is part 2 of lilac’s bite sized yandere jjk nightmares