#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.

[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)

[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

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.

[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

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

Manami Aiba/ La Brava AU Concept

Manami Aiba was alone… She had been for a long time, born small and stunted little had been expected of her. Though despite that, her intellect was not to be shrugged off, her skills less so. She had what it took to be someone great, Atlas had made her multiple offers when she was still in middle school and up until she dropped out of high school all those years ago…

So why had she… Love, love was a powerful, but cruel force for Aiba, it drove the young and older, experienced and naïve alike to do foolish things. She was no different, she fell in love, he wasn’t anyone special, not really, but to her that boy had been the world. She could hardly remember what it was that drew her to him anymore.

She had wanted to know him to be closer to the person that made her heart beat so fast, that lit her soul with joy and desire. She’d followed him, learned about him… Stalked him, she was young, naïve… Dumb. Of course he would notice, and unfortunately for her, he would not view it positively.

Creepy, freak, midget psycho, those were a few word he tossed out, and then those became her titles to the entire student body… People avoided her, and in turn she begun to avoid them in kind.

She denied her scholarships, she pushed away teachers, her parents and anyone, everyone else. Eventually she left it all behind, leaving Mistral to go to Vale, but nothing truly changed, every time she was outside, she felt people stare, heard them call her names…

She didn’t want anything to do with people anymore, after all, the rejection had crushed her, not simply because it broke her heart, not because it ostracized her… But because it denied her very soul, her semblance, she had aura, her parents opting to awaken it when her dwarfism had been identified, hoping aura would help her growth which given her more capable state it had.

But with it came the manifestation of her soul, Love, the power to amplify every facet of a individual’s capabilities, the sole limits being that she can only activate it once and that the only person she can use it on is the one she loves….

Could it be blamed for her powerful emotions, for her need to know the person she felt love for, did she stalk and obsess over that boy because of her semblance, or did she use her semblance as a excuse to do so. Was she sane, or desperate, pathetic or pitiful. She didn’t know, she didn’t want to know, because she refused to fall in love again.

So she avoided it, avoided the world, the outside whenever and however she could.

She used her talents to secure a stable living. She was a hacker like no others, able to break through any firewall, or program to secure what she needed.

She sold info, to the highest bidder, made false documents, traded information for favors. The Xiong proved a valuable client. That was how she secured her life, as a cyber sleuth, a hacker with the alias, LA BRAVA.

And that was how she lived her life, alone, there was no Gentle Criminal in Remnant who became her light in the dark. Nobody would come and pull her from her loneliness, she would live this way forever, committing cyber crimes to survive and sustain her isolation…

Junior then contacted her with a request, to falsify some Transcripts into Beacon, she may have been criminal, but Manami was not without morals. She wouldn’t just pave the way for anyone to access Huntsman level training. It was such a person who had done so for the Branwen twin several decades ago and even Mistral still suffered under the hands of the bandit queen.

So she requested info on the individual, she would commit her own background check on them, and then decide.

His name, was Jaune Arc and he was… Handsome. He was from a village outside the kingdom, there were few records past his birth certificate. Not nearly enough, her heart beat with every picture of him she saw. She requested more information, Junior didn’t have much, so she dug deeper, found out where he was living at the time. It was just for her to decide…

She… She left her home, her small apartment, the Arcs weren’t to renowned but to those in the know they were taught the familiar were as honorable as they came, knights outta fairytales. So why was her here, asking to fake his way into Beacon, she had to know.

She almost was able to ignore the stares on her, the pit in her stomach being in public caused, she felt dizzy, she wanted, no needed to go bac-

“Are you okay?”

And then by sheer coincidence she met him, Jaune Arc kneeled before her, a worried look on his face. Things happened rather fast, she found herself walking beside her target, the boy so friendly, so open to talk to her. Not making a huge issue of her form, of her condition, but also not ignoring it.

He slowed to walk with her, but never once drew attention to her size, and when someone not noticing her bumped into her he defended her. Made them apologize… When asked why he approached her, it wasn’t a painful excuse or cruel misunderstanding like that he thought she was a lost child or that he wanted to ask directions.

“You looked sad, so I figured I’d try to see if I could fix that.” He smiled, it was bright, kind and inviting.

“After all, if I wanna be a Huntsman I should be able to at least cheer up a pretty girl right?” Her cheeks flushed, her chest tightened as he went on with his silly simple but honest words.

That time couldn’t have lasted though, people approached her, junior’s men, they didn’t recognize her, couldn’t have, they’d never met in person after all. Everyone back away as they did, it made sense, junior liked to be in the know, and she was a new face he’d never seen.

Despite how it looked everything should’ve been okay, would’ve been okay, but Jaune didn’t know that, and stepped between.

He wasn’t skilled, not huntsman level at least, but he was strong, she was sure he could kill grimm, even without aura. It shocked her seeing that, seeing him bleed, but he stood tall and strong, defending her until police showed up. But she could see it, the despair in his face, he must’ve realized they were Hei’s men. That he’d thrown away his chance to go to Beacon…

Or so he thought, but she thought different, because despite all that he prioritized her, his friend, one he said didn’t matter that he just met because.

“Strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet.” She’d said it on reflex.

“Love you…” If he hadn’t burst into a dazzlingly, blinding white light he might’ve heard her instead of freaking out. She had to explain what Aura was to him, what it meant, and then convince him to not give up… She, she might’ve told him he shouldn’t sleep at his hotel, that Junior’s men might try to hurt him. They wouldn’t, not so soon, but he didn’t need to know that.

He hadn’t cared until he thought they might go after her… She, used that to have him stay with her, to keep him in Vale. Hacking Beacon was easy, falsifying transcripts easier, they looked more legitimate then the actual ones. Jaune, her friend would be a Huntsman, she’d make sure of it.

Several weeks he stayed with her, cooked for her, and spent time with her, they talked, they grew close, he, he was so amazing, so nice and kind… And hot, he was beefy under his hoodie, like a actual farmboy.

But it all had to come to a end, he thanked her, and promised to visit, to call and made her promise to do the same.

And then he left, but she wasn’t done, hacking Beacon’s security cameras she watched their Initiation saw him partner with a celebrity, a tall, leggy celebrity, but even then he talked about her. About his best friend in Vale, which made his best friend in Beacon, Ruby Rose Jealous.

Then the Grimm attacked, he charged a giant Death Stalker, and her heart froze in fear, she didn’t hesitate, knowing it’d activate.

“I Love You!” She said it with desperation, and even so far away it activated, and the world exploded with bright pink light as Jaune was amplified by her semblance. Moving faster then the Rose Girl, hitting stronger then the blonde, red-eyed bimbo or the ginger hammer wielder. He was confused but not still, determined to act.

Every swing of his blade tearing trough he thick armor and flesh of the Death Stalker alike it’s claws, tail and then legs before he cleaved it in twain. And then… He jumped into the air, not thinking for his safety, or about what he’d do if the power disappeared.

Only about killing the second Grimm, tackling into the giant Nevermore and shooting straight through it. He fell hard but survived given his already immense aura being multiplied several dozen fold.

And it was over, and he called a hour later, people celebrating behind him as he told her the good news, unaware she’d seen it all. The only misunderstanding being that he thought her power was his semblance. He thanked her for unlocking his soul and promised he’d visit her that weekend.

Only for someone to visit her only a hour later, someone she knew, but solely by reputation, the man in charge of Jaune’s fate. The headmaster of Beacon academy, something about having a good grasp of detecting Aura and it’s sources… Then pointing out how while Jaune’s transcripts were flawless, his history was not.

She expected her life to be over but instead.

“Manami Aiba, I believe Beacon could use someone of your particular set of skills, how would you feel about assisting our Stealth and Security Professor Ann Greene? You are around the age of a fourth year. I’m sure we can… Work something out.”

I think their ship name should be 'Amour' (French for Love)

[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?

[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.

[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.

[the-daiz]

Flashy flash (and sonic's) emotional depth

idk what to call this. It’s a character analysis ig?🤷 Anyway, I was thinking about this and wanted to talk about it. Excuse me if I sound stupid or something, I don't do this often. spoilers for the manga and webcomic (ninja arc) Long post ahead

I was thinking, as one does, about the ideal romantic partner for Flashy flash. This is all of course very fanon based because realistically most opm cast are not even semi-datable or fit to be in a healthy, fulfilling relationship (who cares about realistic here though, this is a fanfic blog), but it made me start wondering about Flashy flash's complexity and the possibly suppressed psychological affects the ninja village had/has on him, and how isolation, deprivation and abandonment at a young age probably affected him.

When Flashy flash is first introduced in the series, he shows few emotions/expressions, just the same stoic face with a fitting, confidently arrogant attitude. Even as the story progresses and we see him interact with other characters, such as fellow heroes and even Saitama, while, yes, there is a greater depth to his character now, he's still rather self-pretentious.

I'm not trying to say that there is nothing to him but his stuck-up-ness, but that the most we've seen of him thus far is him being, to simply put it, self-absorbed.

It's only in the Ninjas arc, where the fated reunion between him and Sonic finally occurs, that a more complex version of him is finally brought to light. In my perspective, at the very least.

in the webcomic, it’s revealed that Flashy flash wiped out his entire ninja class, including sonic, but instead of murdering him brutally head-on, he decided to poison him out of mercy. That obviously didn’t work.

his motive behind killing his class was to rid evil from this world, starting with his origins, or the origins of his darkness.

After that, he left the village and lived a life of honor and pride as a hero, and in doing so, removing himself from his past and (almost) completely forgetting about the village.

until he stood face-to-face with Sonic, his old comrade and his failed assassination , after 9 years.

flash forward a bit to the fight between empty void and Sonic + flashy flash. Flashy flash almost gets tricked by “god” via a vision of younger Sonic telling younger flash that they’re going to finally build the ideal ninja village they used to talk about.

Flashy flash’s swift willingness and lack of skepticism makes me believe that he had truly never removed himself from his past.

That all those years he ‘forgot’ about those precious memories, was just him suppressing his regret.

I don’t believe flash regretted wiping out his clan, but I do believe he always (in the far far farrr depths of his mind) longed for a different outcome, where he could’ve built that village with Sonic, and gave orphans the freedom to become strong on their own conditions and have their own goals and dreams. But that’s pretty telling from the vision the cube made for him.

Anyhow, his past never passed, it was just suppressed. He, as an individual now, is still shrouded by those hidden affects of his upbringing.

And it manifests in parts of his character, like his need to be recognized and in the spotlight (noting how irked he got when Saitama kept forgetting his name), his pride, and his drive for power (but that’s pretty lowkey).

That being said, he is emotionally unstable, but anyone can figure that much out.

Why can’t I confidently say the same things about Sonic, though? He was also brought up in the ninja village, alongside flashy flash no less.

While Flashy flash lacks emotional intelligence, Sonic excels in it to a surprising degree, considering his similarly dull past.

This can be seen in the ‘One punch man special 3: A ninja who’s too complicated’ where the viewer gets to witness a more meaningful side of Sonic and his average daily life, as well as watching him form decent emotional bonds. Like with the tiny wild boar “Ino” and the hunter “Frank” in the forest.

On to my main point: in the OVA, he navigates his emotions regarding Saitama, including the fear he felt in regards of facing him again. While training, he recognizes these feelings and where they stem from, and works to improve not only his physical capabilities but also his mental clarity in order to overcome those fears and have the will power to face his destined nemesis once more. While it’s true that at first he was denying his fear, he still managed to accept and harness it by the end of his training.

And he successfully does. Even after being defeated time and time again by Saitama, he uses it as another lesson, a sign that he’s still capable of getting stronger.

that’s another thing, while Sonic accepted the fact the Saitama was stronger than him, and even way above his league, Flashy flash denied it despite witnessing Sai’s strength first hand and even experiencing the overwhelming fear of ‘death’.

I should preface this by saying that Sonic definitely isn’t crazy emotionally intelligent or anything, he’s still our insane, menacing and a little manic ninja. He’s definitely no where near ‘mentally/emotionally perfect’, but between the two, Sonic is significantly more stable than Flashy flash.

Why is that? Sonic moves on. He doesn’t forget or look away or ‘remove himself from his past’. He moves on. He’s always been future oriented, while allowing his past to exist and his present to shape him. Even as a child, that’s what grounded him in contrast with all the other ninjas there, including flashy flash. In a sense, Sonic, with his spirit, personality and ambitions, is the one that guided Flash into that ‘righteous’ mindset, the one that grounded him in that miserable place, too. if it wasn’t for Sonic, Flash would’ve ended up like any other ninja assassin: dull, boring and vacant inside.

Like he said, Sonic was born with a ‘powerful soul’, full of life and rejecting submission. His spirit and inwardly strength since birth had always been resilient. Perhaps that’s the difference between Flashy flash and Sonic,

But we also need to account for the fact that Flashy flash was abandoned and sold off to the village by his parents when he was 5, while Sonic was born there. It’s safe to say that Flash probably doesn’t remember anything from before he entered the village, however, that doesn’t mean it didn’t have some kind of influence on him,

I believe it was his personal experience from the outside before he was sent to the village that also helped in growing the “righteousness” mindset. Along with the fact that they both have their own different personality and mind, their goals could’ve also played a part in how they moved forward with their life. Flashy Flash wanted a fresh slate, to be born anew. A hero that eradicated evil. But if he came from that dreaded place, killed many in cold blood, isn’t he also considered an ‘evil’? Pretending that part of his life didn’t mean anything, or no longer existed all together, perhaps reassured him that he was the pure ‘good’. Maybe it was the only way he thought he could achieve his ambition.

With Sonic, I’d imagine after the massacre of his class and his escape, he was merely focused on survival. He simply didn’t care at the time. And even when he had the time to think about his goal, which I believe he still always planned to build that ideal village even if it was on his own, the whole goal revolves AROUND his past, his life since he was born trapped inside the ninja village. And besides, he truly just didn’t care for all that complicated stuff about erasing the past and whatnot. ‘What happened, happened 🤷’

Now onto the more hidden influences of the ninja village upbringing: Isolation and deprivation of parental affection

In the case of isolation, Flashy flash and Sonic interacted quite often so we’ll just cross that one out for now.

Deprivation of parental affection, or even any type of caregiver, is terrible for any child. And in Flashy Flash’s case, not only was he deprived of that approval and love for years, but he probably had something akin to it before being abandoned. Maybe he didn’t too, and whoever was taking care of him at that time wasn’t kind, but that sense of abandonment and being carelessly tossed into an environment predictably ten times worse than whatever he lived in before then, intensified any sense of deprivation originally brought on by the absence of parental involvement. This could be the reason why he wants and/or needs to be popular and well known, and dislikes being overshadowed by others.

but frankly, that’s a pretty weak point, i feel like I’m just yapping here.

After all this blabbering, I’m finally going back to the whole point of this analysis, or rather the reason that made me start thinking about this topic: ‘a romantic partner’.

If, by some miracle, Flashy Flash managed to land himself in a romantic relationship with someone, how would that play out? the simple answer to this is: not well. Definitely not well. Of course, he’s going to act drastically different from his exterior persona with said significant other, and I believe the way he would act is a problem all by itself.

Going back to my ‘deprivation of parental affection’ point from earlier, he would seek out that attention, love and security in his partner, which in of itself isn’t bad, its the intensity of it that would point to a clear instability in him. I think he would seek validation and attention constantly, to an overbearing extent, if I may. Always calling and texting his partner, getting agitated when they don’t respond at least within 30 minutes, even if they’re busy.

For all his devotion to his work as a hero, his partner would consume a big portion of his thoughts, perhaps even when he’s on missions. And he’d assume his significant other should be as reliant on their relationship as he is. His interactions with them even through the phone would possibly determine his overall mood for that day. That’s far from how any sort of healthy relationship should work.

Aside from all of this, as I mentioned in the beginning of the post, Flashy flash is still self-absorbed. He’d want to be above his partner in many aspects, especially strength and intelligence. He would want to feel superior in a relationship. Overall, his mindset in a relationship would likely be very unhealthy. He’d probably think that his partner is lucky to have him, even if he feels grateful for having them, he would expect them to be grateful for him by ten folds. Not because he’s the ideal romantic partner (from everyones point of view except his), but because he’s the embodiment of perfection. He’s clean, handsome, powerful, rich, smart, devoted. Who would want anything else? He can’t differentiate between those attributes and what it takes for you to be a good spouse.

This point is demonstrated by his acute possessiveness and well-veiled but intense jealousy. If his partner planned to go out with some friends while he so happened to be free at that time, he wouldn’t understand why they wouldn’t bail on their friends to hangout with him instead; his utterly glorious and charming self, their enchanting partner who’s better than everyone else.

I’m assuming this would lead to many arguments. In his head, he would criticize all their friends or colleagues, mentally comparing them to him.

He would grow obsessively attached to his partner. He would constantly yearn for all their love, attention and praise. Subconsciously, his mind is trying to use his partner to fill in the missing gaps left by his childhood, while also accounting for his need for support as an adult. All things considered, he needs way too much. He also tries to give way too much, which for some people could be overwhelming.

With all those issues and toxicity in the relationship, naturally the partner would eventually try to breakup with flashy flash. This is where I believe his abandonment issues would finally show. He wouldn’t accept the breakup, and would deny or try to excuse their reasoning. If that doesn’t work, he’d start growing desperate.

He’s revolved his life and schedule around this person ever since their relationship started, every waking step he takes he’s thinking about them in any sense, they’d seen so much vulnerability and need in him, how could they just leave? He’d grow proper desperate, doing anything, even if it may be seen as pathetic (which is surprising coming from someone who cares a lot about how he’s perceived), to get them to stay.

‘He would never do that, that is so out of character for him.’, and I agree, it IS out of character of him, but I think people tend to underestimate the sheer intensity of limerence and attachment when someone hasn’t received that crucial part of development growing up. Think about it, he had probably been deprived of that sense of safety and gentleness for around 20-25 years of his life, and when he finally gets it and is intoxicated by it, his entire existence is coiled around it. Wouldn’t losing that shred of touch he needed for years send him into mental distress?

that being said, you don’t need to take anything I say seriously, I’m mostly just overthinking and spilling my maladaptive daydreaming thoughts into this post.

IN CONLUSION:

Flashy flash is still held up by his past (to an extent)

Flashy Flash would probably have preoccupied anxious attachment style

He needs some intense therapy

THEN AGAIN, this whole post could just be a huge miss on my part 💥

exhales deeply. Siri, play ‘Crack baby' by mitski. *takes in a big puff from my hookah* Man.

[boolger]

READ ME A VERSE - COD

��Kate Laswell x afab!Reader - explicit - MDNI - 11k words ☆AU to a certain degree. Reader and Kate are in a fictional radical christian group who is pretty secluded in a little town. Inspired by the song Verse by Emily Jeffri, which i have been obsessed with for a while, but in particular this part;

“Last time I saw her, we were in church I said my love to her and somebody heard We haven't locked eyes since or said a word.” Verse, by Emily Jeffri

☆tags: radical religion, homophobia, religious homophobia, internalized homophobia, sexism, abuse, violence, isolation, mention of miscarriage, dub-con, non-con sex, non-con kissing, victim blaming, bad parents, mention of death, afab!reader, forced marriage, masturbation, fingering, oral sex. Happy ending.

☆Summary: You had been considered ‘sick’ for years, sent away from your hometown and family to get better, isolated and forced to repent. But years later, when you are ‘healed’ and granted permission to return, there is a woman in church that you don’t know. You want to be a good Christian woman, even if you don’t want to marry Phillips Graves, but this Kate haunts your mind. No prayers can stop your thoughts, the verses are not able to stop how the two of you  constantly feel pulled towards each other, lured by your sinful thoughts and the lust for actual love.

You grew up here, in between good Christian women and men, with sin seeping into your bones, only hidden by your fragile flesh and skin. Organs rotten with wicked thoughts, every day of sickness a punishment for your refusal to repent, you were sure.

That was the way you had lived your entire life, knowing something was wrong with you - but every waking hour, you couldn’t help but wonder, if this sin, this evil, the crime, was merely that in their eyes. In the community’s eyes.

Once, when you were younger, 19 and naive, you had told your best friend, thinking she could keep the secret, thinking she might understand that it wasn’t something that should be said out loud. Yet, barely 24 hours passed and then your parents knew, pulling you to the church, to the elders of your village, the leaders of the church making you admit out loud to your immorality, to the sinful demons of lust that had taken over your body.

Women aren’t supposed to fall in love with other women, they said, you’re not supposed to lust after another woman - your lust is only for your future husband.

Your mother cried, sobs echoing through the empty church, no doubt with people around it, listening in to the judgment of the crime that had never manifested anywhere but your body.

Your father’s face was like stone, but the disappointment dripped from him wordlessly, at his refusal to even look at you.

It can be cured, they said, their wrinkled faces spitting out your sentence, praying, bible reading, hard work - and sending her away. Only when she is changed, when she truly repents, can she be loved by our Lord again.

With such simple words, your fate had been sealed for the upcoming years, pulling you from your well-known home, from your family and the town you had never truly left for longer than a couple of hours. To a farm, miles and miles away. You had been there once, several years ago with your family, vague memories of petting some cows and collecting eggs.

Instead you watched the car drive away after an hour or so, leaving you behind in the middle of nowhere, your trusty flip-phone taken from you as well.

At the farm, two couples lived, a younger and an older pair. The only good thing about your years at the place was that you couldn’t be married off when considered “sick”. You prayed that God would never forgive you, when you saw how the couples treated each other. A couple of farmhands appeared now and again, that you weren’t allowed to speak to but other than that, you didn’t speak to anyone but the couples.

You lived in a small room, bare walls except the cross next to your bed and the painting of Jesus next  to the door - caught in between a painting of a man you were constantly forced to read about and a crucifix that would remind you of the punishments if you didn’t change.

Simple food, simple clothes, work hard, routines and prayers several times a day. The men would read out verses in the evenings sometimes, as you all sat around them. You weren’t allowed to watch anything but specific christians movies every saturday. After watching each one twice, you stopped asking for it.

A year passed before you saw your parents again. Once again your mother was crying, but she seemed happier now, talking about how you had grown, how you looked healthier. You showed her and the upper church members who had tagged along around the farm, doing your best to seem better. Sinfre. Never mentioning anything bad. They went into the kitchen to talk, while you were sent to feed the chicken and collect eggs, denied access to your second judgment.

Another year, they said, another year would do her well, just to make sure she is truly well again.

Your mother kissed your forehead, telling you to read your verses, your father saying he would pray for you. They all would, they comforted you, another year and you could join them in the car, go home with them.

That night you ran, crawling through the window, abandoning Jesus and his crucifix, no plan in mind other than to get away. Another year wouldn’t cure you, one year hadn’t even done much. You understood it was wrong, sure, but you couldn’t stop it. You refused to be on the farm till you turned 21. 

The town wouldn’t offer you any sanctuary, you knew, so you ran the opposite way, into the unknown darkness.

They found you the next day, walking along the road towards another town, hoping someone would pick you up and help you. You screamed, fighting all you could, scratched and kicked as they pulled you back into the car - returning you to the farm. They belted the soles of your feet until they bled and left you in your cleared room, with nothing but a bible.

You knew then, that it would probably be more than a year before you would return home. After that night, the door to your room was locked every night, bars put in front of the window, keeping you from crawling out through it again.

Days passed, prayers spilling from your mind, weeks then, verses recited, months - it took almost three years more before the lies spilled as easily from your lips as the prayers did, and the people around you finally dared to believe. The lies about dreaming of a husband, of stepping into the role of a good, christian housewife, of bearing children for your husband, all sin free. You were a good girl now, a woman of God, who prayed every night for a husband and finally, finally they believed you, men of the church and your parents once again returning. 

You felt alienated to them, yet you smiled, saying you were cured now. Said you dreamt of marrying, of having your own house with a husband. Your mother cried tears of joy. Healthy again, you stepped into the car, going back to a town you no longer considered home, after four years of departure. 

“A sheep led back to the fold by the Lord,” your mother whispered to you in the car, holding your hand, but you felt no relief as you returned to the town.

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You had thought you could wait a little longer - thought they wouldn’t bring it up so soon, but you supposed it made sense in a way; they had to prove to the town that you were cured, you had to prove that the homosexuality no longer festered inside your body, but that you had become a pure woman now. A woman, just waiting to be married off.

Usually, women in the town would marry when they turned 21, so to not be married at 23, almost 24? A scandal that had to be avoided, your status had to be changed as soon as possible.

It was the first time back in church, back in the fold, that you saw her.

The most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Dark blond hair neatly pulled back in a low bun, face sharp and eyes blue, arm in arm with Shepherd - despite the modest clothes, you felt a fire run through you, the wounds blooming up inside your rotten organs, crawling along the spine like demons, demons that the priest and elders had promised were banished. The wrong thoughts and feelings to have inside a church - God would judge you, wouldn’t he? 

Let you suffer, just like Christ had, make them pull you back to the farm.  

You hurried to look away, instead looking at the men in church. Asking your mother about some of the men, some new members. You had been gone for almost four years, things had changed, people had passed, babies had been born.

Your old best friend, whom you had whispered your secret to, who had done the right thing according to everyone around you, had married her childhood crush, carrying a small child on her arm - smiling at you as she passed, her stomach having the iconic bump proving another child was on the way.

Most of the people you had grown up with and considered friends were married now, most of them already parents as well. 

You had spent years worshiping in silence, barely surrounded by more than 4 people and now you were surrounded by over 100 followers, singing the hymns of the Lord that was supposed to have freed you from the madness of your lust.

She sang too, you noted, sitting dutifully next to Shepherd who looked like an old man next to her, though you doubted he was that much older. You grabbed your hymnbook harder, fingers hurting with how hard you gripped it, looking down even though you knew every word and tone.

The prayers spilled easily, the verses familiar, the daily cleansing of your soul. 

Your eyes had met, just for a second. It was like your world paused, frozen, just to make sure that you understood that she had looked at you too. Only to immediately look away again, both of you pretending you hadn’t looked. Like a fallen angel, ready to be overcome with the thing that made you unholy at the first point, you let yourself dream of meeting her, properly.

Your appearance at the church, well looking and submissive, dutifully following your parents, knowing your prayers, your worship clear, it all made your parents look good. The priest blessed you as you left, saying it was good to have you back. You thanked him, saying it was good to be back, to be free of demons.

Lies, lies, lies, spilling from your lips, just like the prayers, prayers, prayers. You wanted them to be true, wanted to be free so that you wouldn’t suffer so much. 

But butterflies uncurled from their cocoons as you passed the woman who stood with Sheperd, your parents greeting them politely - you too, smiling as a good girl should, your eyes lingering on her for just a second longer, noting how she was looking at you too; it was your imagination surely, but still. You followed your parents, your sister who had been 15 when you left and who was 19 now, the age at which you had disappeared, babbling away.

“She is Mr. Shepherd's new wife, Kate Laswell,” your sister explained as you sat next to each other in the car, apparently aware of everything going on in the town now - or at least, of the gossip, “An outsider, mind you.”

“Alice,” your mother warned from the front seat, the tone sharp, “She isn’t any longer - and she is Mrs. Shepherd, not Laswell anymore. Besides, her parents are good Christian people too… just not a part of our Church. Yet.”

Your sister just waved her hand at her, as if to say ‘details details, mother’, while she continued, “He met her about three years ago on a trip, she came here while you were sick and they married. Before coming here she had a miscarria–”

“Alice!” Your mother turned around in the seat, sending your sister a sharp look, clearly displeased, just as the car pulled into the little driveway, “It’s improper to talk about such things.”

“Sorry, mom,” Alice said, even as she didn’t look apologetic one bit.

You were still stuck at her words, while you were sick. The memories of running in the night, the endless hours of work, of prayers and verses that were supposed to free you. Of people telling you that you were sick, that demons had possessed you. Four years of being turned into a good, pious woman.

“Mr. Shepherd is a good man,” you said, feeling emotionless but knowing that was what you were supposed to say, if this thing had been told to you while on the farm.

“He is,” your mother confirmed, “He is happier after he met her, too - now come on, we have things to do.”

You knew his first wife had died - pneumonia, they said, quickly and without warning - God always takes the good ones first. The bells had rung, echoing through the houses, into your mind as you remembered how the entire town wore black at the funeral. Had it only been that sickness that had curled in between your ribs and infected your organs, things might have ended differently. 

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The Graves family was respected in your little town, wealthy, the Mr. Graves Senior one of the church leaders.  He had been one those who took a part of your judgment, of sealing your fate for four years, making your parents abandon you in between harsh treatment and farm animals, surrounded by neverending fields of wheat and corn.

Yet, somehow, despite knowing of your sickness first hand, having been a part of the healing, having touched your head and prayed for you, he still came to your parents’ house, with a smile on his lips.

Feeling hostage in your own childhood home, you served him and your father dinner with your mother, leaving your parents to talk with the older man, told off to do the laundry. You only returned once the doorbell rang, opening it…

To one Mr. Graves Jr.

“My my,” he stepped in, pushing the door open as you stepped back out of reflex, his blue eyes instantly on you, shamelessly running over your body, the arrogant smile you remembered from when you were younger, still present on his face “Haven’t you grown.”

“Mr. Graves,” you answered politely, already wanting to request him to leave. To not look at you in such a manner, to not say such words in that tone. 

“Nah, just call me Phillip, darling. You will soon anyway.” His voice was honeyed and he winked at you and before you could ask what he meant, your mother appeared - ushering you away and back to the laundry room, while he was led to the living room.

You tried distracting yourself, humming the familiar hymns as you emptied the washing machine, loading it with dirty clothes, wishing you could enter it too - but no matter what, the words you will soon anyway echoed inside your hollow body.

The Graves family was respected. They were looked up to by many people, one of the few families where the men were allowed to leave now and again. Even having the father of the family over for lunch like this, was a good sign that your family was being respected again, despite the veil of disgrace you had thrown over them.

So really, you should be honored. Not feel nausea in your throat, your heart beating so fast you were sure it would spring out from your ribcage, barely able to breathe. You could barely get the word out. 

“Marriage?” You repeated, watching your mother’s excited face as she nodded, your father proudly smoking behind her, standing in the door frame, clearly pleased too, “With… Mr. Graves’ son?”

“Yes dear – oh Phillip is a kind man, bless his heart,” you didn’t like her tone, “Even with everything that has happened, he still wants to marry you!”

“He is a good man,” Your father added from the door frame, eyes watching you, clearly waiting for a reaction, “Wanted to marry you before you were sick - waited for you.”

Waited for you.

You wanted to scream of horror. Legs trembling, feeling like you went blind for a second. Once, when you were a child and your family had been driving home, a deer had been caught in the lights of the car, gone rigid at the sight. It had managed to escape, just in time, saved from death. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to escape your fate, however. 

“I don’t know if I–” you barely knew what apology to spew out, what lies to tell them.

“Don’t worry - I know this is sudden, dear,” you mom said, taking your hands in hers, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, “but God is really looking out for you.”

“It’s a miracle that the Graves family would even consider her,” your father muttered, thrown at you like a stone, but you barely felt the impact, even as your mother hissed his name.

“Oh, I’ll have to call my sister - you will have the grandest wedding, my baby girl.”

That was what you feared. Your mother disappeared again to go call her sister and within hours the entire town would probably know - not even caring what your answer had been to the proposal that hadn’t happened. 

“You’re not going to cause a scene, are you?” Your father stared at you and you wondered for a moment if you would prefer the farm over this. Out there your tears would dry, no woman could seduce your mind, no man would marry you.

“No,” you answered, giving him a smile that barely seemed real, “of course not.”

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You stared at the date, the 8th of July, 2010, with your name printed next to Phillip Graves Jr. - to be wed. They had given you two months, two months to get to know each other, though you knew you wouldn’t get a say, not truly.

The mere fact that Graves Senior hadn’t stopped his son, meant that they all believed you were free of sin. Yet you always felt watched. As if the security cameras scattered around the town would be able to catch the way you were still sick.

“You’re getting married,” a gentle voice said behind you; it wasn’t a question, more of a statement - just like it had been for you. 

You turned, distracted from the bulletin board in front of the Church, only for your eyes to meet those blue ones you kept dreaming of.

“Mr. Shepherd,” you greeted, giving her what you hoped was a polite smile, “I am, yes - in two months.”

She nodded, turning to look at the bulletin board. You dared to think that the smile on her face truly looked a little sad.

“Were you given a choice?” her voice was careful, barely above a whisper. You stared at her, barely able to blink for a couple of seconds as the words sank in.

“His offer of proposal is a blessing,” you felt like it was your mother’s words that escaped you, not your own, “given my time of… sickness… it’s very kind of the Graves family to have even considered me.”

As your eyes met, you recognised the look. Sad, resigned in a way, as if she recognised that it wasn’t your own words, that you were a mere hostage in this situation. You wondered for a brief moment if her situation had been like this. If she too hadn’t had a choice, even though she was older than you. Probably ten years. No more than that. Her lips looked soft, but bitten; probably from nervousness, your mother did that too sometimes. 

“It is not a sickness.”

Five words. She made it sound so simple. You felt your jaw clench, your teeth grind together. Verses ran through your mind, prayers through your blood, the urge to step into the church and repent, for something you hadn’t even said.

“Don’t say shit like that,” you hissed, anger that was forced down your throat for years escaping you, as you looked back at the board, whispering out a “it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” it was like needles escaped your mouth, forcing words of others, “it’s because you’re from the outside.”

“What if–”

“I must go,” you said, fearing you had stood there on the main street, close to her for too long, “Have a good day.”

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It is not a sickness, it echoed through your mind for several days, it is not a sickness.

Tell on her, a dark part of your mind offered, she is spewing sin. But if you told on her to the elders, then you would have to tell why the subject was even present in your conversation.

What if you would never see her again then? The mere idea of not getting to see her again, made you want to cry, even if you had barely talked.

The world outside our community is godless, they said, disgraceful and evil, with demons and fallen angels roaming among the humans. Leaving us is like surrendering your place in heaven with our Lord.

Yet you yearned. With each ring of the church bell, you wondered if you could find peace outside, even if it meant your eternal damnation. 

No verses had the answers to why you were sick. They had tried to tell you many proved it, yet it was like it never quite fit.

As if God wouldn’t admit to you why he made you this way, even as you submitted to him. 

You wanted Kate despite barely having talked to her, certain in your bones that something connected you. Whatever it was.

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You didn’t have a lot of opinions when it came to planning the wedding - it didn’t feel like yours anyways. You saw her, now and again. Glimpses of her as you looked at flower options with your mother at the little florist of the town. In church, next to her husband, never looking happy.

Your eyes met, but you never talked. Anger bubbled beneath your skin, remembering her saying it wasn’t a sickness.

Because if it wasn’t, truly wasn’t, like she had dared to say and you dared to dream, then you had spent four years in hell for nothing. Then you had endured four years of loneliness, surrounded by ghosts who merely reminded you of the words in the book that was your entire word. Watched every night by the painting of Christ, who said love thy neighbor like thyself , but according to the town that didn’t count if thy neighbor were gay.

It was the scars beneath your feet that ache after a long day, it was the darkness of the room you were abandoned in with your bible. These made you angry, when she dared to come here and say it wasn’t a sickness, that it wasn’t wrong.

Because… it was… wasn’t it?

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Despite your anger, the pleasure continued to grow in your abdomen until it became too much.

Pulling open the string of your pajama pants felt wrong, yet you did it, sliding your hand beneath the fabric, then beneath your underwear too. You were 24, you had touched yourself before but it had been years. The farm had snubbed any urge.

You thought of her hands, wandering over your skin, her soft looking, anxious bitten lips kissing yours. Skin pressed against yours, nails digging into it.

Your cunt was wet as you hesitantly touched yourself, fingers sliding in between the lips, the wetness feeling forbidden and sacred almost. It felt as if your body was on fire, a fire that you thought had been killed years ago, making you press your lips together to keep silent. To not let any sound escape your traitorous mouth that had lied for so long, electricity going through your bones as your fingers brushed your clit.

Whether Kate would touch you there or not, you dared to hope she would. You dared to hope that she would let you touch her, the sinful ideas mixing with the shame, though it only seemed to spur you on.

Toes curled, legs cramping and eyelashes fluttered as you came on two fingers, imagining Kate being next to you. Immoral, just like you.

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“Graves,” The name stumbled from your mouth as you stumbled back a few steps, feeling trapped in the garden, your back almost pressed against the apple tree, the fruits hanging around you, heavy on the branches. Your fingers gripped the basket with the apples so hard that you feared it might splinter beneath them.

“That’s my father, darling,” the older man pointed out, stepping closer, breathing a little heavy as he looked at you, confident smile on his lips as always, “I told you to call me Phillip, didn’t I?”

You let out a little huff, smiling at him the best you could, “yeah, sorry - Philip, then.”

“You look beautiful,” it dripped like honey soaked from his lips and you wondered for a moment, if the honey could be poisoned, if he was the snake in the garden - or if the sickness inside you were, “love your dress.”

He stepped closer, your heart quickening, yet not from excitement. 

“T-thank you,” you managed, face heating up, eyes flickering towards the house, but you didn’t see any sign of your parents being home - had he just wandered into the garden, knowing you were home alone, “I uhm - why are you here, Phillip?” 

He laughed, reaching out to take one of the apples out of your basket, big hand almost swallowing up the fresh fruit.

“What? Can’t I go lookin’ for my wife?” There was a boyish charm to him, you supposed. Most of the women in town would swoon for him and you wondered why he had decided on you.

“We’re not married yet,” you pointed out before you could help yourself, “you really shouldn’t be here, if our parents–”

“What? Think they will be upset about me being here?” he teased, free hand suddenly raising to gently caress your cheek, taking a hold of your chin, leaning closer, grip stopping you from pulling your head back, “I’m a man, darling - not a woman.”

You swallowed.

“Dirty thing,” he crooned, “I’m gonna heal you, yeah? Make you a good an’ proper woman.”

“I-I’m not dirty,” you whispered, barely believing your own words, “I was healed at the farm.” 

He chuckled, dark and low, grinning so you could see his gums and you wondered if he would ruin you, bite from bite, take your life from you, “Not properly cured until you marry a man, hon.”

All you felt when he kissed you were burned saccharine and bitter fear. It was a short kiss but it burned on your lips, spreading nausea through your body like a plague, infecting your blood. He let go of you then, stepped back, winking as he raised the apple, “I’ll see ya’ soon, wifey.” 

As he left the garden of Eden, the crisp sound of his bite of the fruit almost echoing, you couldn’t help but hope there was a worm in the apple.

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You went to church the next day, earlier than you were supposed to, promising to do your chores later. You needed to talk to God, Mary, Christ, whoever would listen, any saint who might help you feel clean again. Homosexual sin tainting your fingers from masturbation and burning impure lips from the unwelcome kiss from your future husband. 

What were you thinking, they would say, you were sure, have you learned nothing? Have you gone mad, sick again from the devils and demons dancing inside your mind and body?

Christ hung on the crucifix in front of you as you sat on the pew, looking up at him. Would he consider you wicked too or had he forgiven you the moment he took upon humanity’s sins?

Would Saint Peter truly turn you away, push you from the loving home of heaven, to the dark, demonic –

“Hi.”

It was barely above a whisper, yet you felt as if it echoed throughout the church, into every crevice, making any statue or painting upon the walls look to the two of you. You turned on reflex, not to her, but to the everpresent church servant. The man was snoring gently, head resting against the cold wall behind him. Unaware of the other’s arrival. 

Finally, your eyes met Kate’s, flowers blooming in the pit of your stomach as she smiled gently at you.

“Hi,” you dared to whisper back, watching her as she sat down next to you at the pew.

Silence grew for a moment and you listened to the vague snoring of the servant, your eyes moving to watch Christ on the cross once again. He hadn’t moved one bit since you last looked at him, eyes still on the ground in front of him.

“I’m sorry I upset you.”

Forgiveness - could you really offer her forgiveness, when deep down in your putrid organs, you knew that she was right? You looked over at her, a careful, worried expression on her face.

“It’s okay,” you answered, voice not as loud, “I - uhm… Was mean too.” A small smile appeared and you found yourself smiling back at her, despite your fear. For another moment you hesitated, unsure whether you should utter the truth at her or not. “I don’t want to marry him.”

The words made you feel small, but you continued, though you looked up at Christ once again, keeping your voice low, “but I don’t have a choice, do I?”

She was quiet for a moment, as if to agree with you silently. It was as Philip Graves had said, wasn’t it? A dirty thing who can only become pure again by marriage with a man.

“You do,” she whispered, “but it’s not an easy one.”

You almost jumped when her hand touched yours, warm and soft against your skin. A choice, an opportunity. You had an inkling that you already knew what she would suggest, a part of you wanting to stop her from doing so.

“Leave,” she whispered, the word sounding so simple, yet it was filled to the brim with danger, immorality… the unknown.

“I can’t,” it escaped like an instinct, “My home is here.”

“Is it a home if you cannot be yourself?” Her hand squeezed yours, “don’t let them convince you to marry, don’t make the same mistake as me. Please.”

The sound of the bells rang throughout the church, calling to the daily prayer. She stood suddenly, hand slipping away from yours, stepping to the pew on the opposite side, eyes turned towards the altar. A groan left the Church servant, who mumbled a little, surprised at the sight of you - but he made no other comment.

Don’t let them convince you to marry, don’t make the same mistake as me.

Was she, as an outsider, forced too? She was older than you, probably around 32 or something, but she had been here three years, while you were at the farm. Shepherd was older than her, probably only a few years, but the everpresent angry look always made him seem older.

The prayers tasted like ash at that Church sentence, not dripping as easily as they used to. You did your best to hide it, listening to the verses, worshiping like you were expected to.

Philip winked at you as he passed you on the way out. Creep.

Your eyes met Kate’s  but you didn’t react and neither did she. It was like playing with fire - you were sure your parents wouldn’t find her company too agreeable. 

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“He is your fiance,” your mother pointed out as you stared at the apples you were cutting up, trying to keep the scowl from your face,“I think a walk together near the lake would be a good idea. So you can get to know each other some more.”

“What if…” you didn’t know how to not express your already growing disdain for your future husband, “What if he wants to do something improper? Like, I don’t know, kiss?”

Your mother laughed, your father huffing from behind the local newspaper.

“Philip is a good man,” your mother said, patting your shoulder as she passed.

“I kissed your mother before marriage,” your father’s comment, calmly but with a hint of mischievousness, made your mother shriek.

“Edward! Don’t tell her that!”

“What? We did.”

The knife in your hand parted the piece of apple into two.

“That’s not proper,” you pointed out, the ever present reminders of what was improper and sinful and what was not that you learnt from the farm, the words you had to repeat, had to know, even in the middle of the night. 

“It’s no sin,” your dad pointed out, “nothing wrong with a kiss or two.”

“Don’t kiss him if you don’t want to, darling girl,” your mother assured you, “besides, Philip would hardly ask you to do something like that.”

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“Kiss me?” Oh how you wished you still had the knife that you used to cut the apples, in the palm of your hand.

“Uhm, we really shouldn’t,” you pointed out, stepping back as he stepped forward, trying to keep some distance in between the two of you.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that,” his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. You tried twisting free instantly, fear overwhelming you as his smile slowly disappeared, his blue eyes seeming darker. You wanted to scream for help, but who would come to your rescue? You were almost halfway around the lake, away from most eyes, though it wouldn’t surprise you if there were some security cameras out here in the trees as well.

Before a loud enough sound could leave you, his hand was on your mouth and he was pushing you in between the bushes, up against a tree.

He touched you, like you had touched yourself that night in bed, thinking of Kate - but you weren’t crying out or fighting the pleasure now, instead it was the disgust that overwhelmed you, your lower half exposed as he had pulled your skirt up. Apparently he quickly grew bored of touching your cunt, unable to make you do anything but cry - but as he pulled out your cock, you truly panicked.

Hitting him in the chest, pulling his hand from your mouth. “nonononno, please -” “shut up-” “Phillip I can get pregnant-” He laughed, turning you so quickly you almost fell, pushing you against the tree, “Don’t worry baby, I’m not putting it in, just fucking your thighs–”

He did so, pressing your thighs together as you cried against the bark of the tree. As he grunted and moaned in your ear, you disappeared into your mind, back to the farm. Praying, bible reading, hard work, just like they had said, had filled your life for four years. Four terrible years, yet you would rather go back to the farm than this.

You wanted to feed the chickens and collect the eggs, you wanted to pet the sheep, making sure all of them returned in the evenings. You wanted to clean the wooden floors again, forced to do so while praying and singing hymns as a punishment for talking back. 

You felt dirty afterwards, unsure of what really had happened but there was cum on your thighs as he pushed down the skirt.

“Don’t tell anyone, no? You tempted me, after all,” he pointed out as he fixed his shirt a second time, grinning as you sniffled.

You shook your head. 

“Knew you were a smart girl, baby girl,” the words made you want to throw up and your eyes didn’t meet his, “Lemme get ya’ home.”

You didn’t tell your parents everything - and when your sister asked if you had kissed, you had shaken your head. Phillip is a good man, you had said, he will be a wonderful husband.

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A part of you wanted to leave the house and go directly to the priest, stare him in the eyes as you admitted that demons still hungered around your body, that you were still sick. That the homosexuality had never left your body, that only lies had dripped from your lips when you weren’t praying. Those four years had changed nothing but messed up your mind, not your sexuality.

Yet you refrained, instead going to the church early every day. Watching the church servant sleep, sitting on your pew, in the familiar spot, watching the altar. Wondering why God would do this to you. Why he would make you wrong in the eyes of the town, why he would send Phillip Graves to touch you against your will.

Almost every morning she would appear.

Sweet, beautiful Kate. Always kind and soft despite the world that surrounded the two of you. You dared to bring her a piece of cake at one point, one that you had baked yourself, loving how her face lit up at the sight. Basking in the praise she had given you in her whispers.

You would live, survive for those times with her in the church. Perhaps, that was why you didn’t admit to your sins, why you didn’t truly repent. Because, if they sent you away once more or locked you away inside a home, you wouldn’t be able to see Kate anymore.

Kate, who held your hand. Kate, who you dared to kiss on the cheek one morning two weeks later, as the church servant snored particularly loudly - who then framed your face with her wonderful hands and kissed you on the lips.

Every day that passed brought you closer to the day of the wedding, but also to Kate.

You didn’t need to ask to know that she was infected, just like you. That her organs were also rotten with sin, bones decaying from the want.

You dared to pull her to the bathroom of the church with you, listen to her whisper out oh God, taking the Lord’s name in vain as you ate her out, pride blossoming from it.

She came on your tongue, on your fingers. You came on hers too, on her thigh once. 

Panties soaked the entire service that followed, the prayers and sermon barely understood, constantly reminded of how she had looked as you rode her thigh, muttering praises into your ear as you kept it down, as not to draw any attention.

The forbidden fruit had never tasted better, but you knew that it too would rot, given how close the wedding was. 

You exchanged numbers but were too afraid to call or text, fearing being caught; you by your parents or by Phillip, her by her husband Shepherd.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

It wouldn’t last forever, that you knew, yet you had hoped it could. 

“What were you doing in the church with Mrs. Shepherd?” your dad asked one day at the dinner table, giving you no time to figure out an answer or to truly understand how he would know.

“Praying,” you lied, the words feeling so familiar by now, despite the ashy taste, “We don’t talk together. We just pray.”

Your father was staring at you, eyes cold, anger possibly boiling just beneath his skin.

“Wilson said he never saw you two.” You could strangle the bloody church servant and his snoring body.

“Lies,” you merely answered, “Mr. Wilson sleeps every day in the back of the church. His snoring echoes, disturbing my prayers.”

He didn’t look convinced. You wanted to scream at him, to mind his own bloody business. To not judge you, to accept you and love you, despite what they deemed flaws. 

“You can come with me yourself tomorrow - see how he sleeps in his chair, leant against the wall. Or hear it, I suppose - Mrs. Shepherd and I merely greet each other - nothing else.”

Somehow, the fact that you were willing to take him along - not really, but you wouldn’t mind proving your point, just to be able to continue your time with Kate - seemed good enough.

“Bloody always asleep, that man,” your father finally grumbled.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

There was a week until your wedding, the days having disappeared in between your fingers. You hadn’t been able to see Kate except during church service, not able to speak together or utter a word to each other - Shepherd's angry eyes would find you every time, staring you down. You did your best to ignore him, ignoring the judgment you were sure he had placed upon you and focused on the hymns. You tried worshiping the divine, in a desperate attempt to escape reality. 

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The dress felt too tight. Modest, barely showing anything but you hands and head, nothing like you had dreamt of when you were a kid, nothing like you had seen in a magazine that you found when you were 13, buried in a book in the little library of the town.

“You look beautiful,” your mother whispered, voice wet, having cried all day. You felt hollowed out, watching yourself in a white dress as if you were a lamb, sent to slaughter.

“It’s tight,” you muttered, the seamstress removing a pin or two but not enough. Perhaps it wasn’t the size but merely the fact you didn’t want it.

Four days, then there would be nothing improper about all the things Graves had whispered that he wanted to do with you. Then your moments with Kate, excused by the lies of prayers and hymns, would stop. Then you couldn’t forget the world with the slightly older woman, who would tell you of the world outside. Of parades for sinners like you, where you could be accepted and loved for who you were. Of art and music, of books and poetry, of politics  and of animals who weren’t kept merely for food.

It was simple, modest like everyone expected it to be. Long loose sleeves, ankle long skirt with white lace trim. Fake white flowers on the headband with the veil, pearls that Philip had gifted you for around your neck.

You had the feeling that your parents wanted to show you off, prove that they were good Christians who had raised a child that wasn’t lost. Who had been sick but was cured. The Graves family wanted to prove what great people they were, showing that you could be saved by the church even if Satan tried to claim you.

Philip wanted to show you off before he ruined you.

You cried then, when the seamstress said she would be ready with it in two days. Your mother took it for tears of joy and you lied once more, as you had for years, saying it was.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“They’re saying she is becoming mad,” you heard them whisper, your body freezing, barely breathing as you tried listening. Your mother had people over for bible study but it was rarely actual studying.

“She was mad even before he got her,” one of the neighbors whispered, “told Shepherd didn’t I? Why would he take an outsider?”

“I heard Stacy say it was a favor for her parents —“

“She is probably going to the farm.”

You felt your mind spiral, almost dropping the basket of laundry, before you recognised your mother saying your name.

“- don’t want her to know. She is cured and healthy, but I don’t want her to think there is anybody sick in this town.”

“Might infect her again,” another neighbor pointed out, making you feel like you could barely breathe.

“God forbid,” your mother mumbled, “she is finally getting married. A baby or two will do her well.”

You abandoned the laundry basket in the hallway to find your phone. 

You had seen some of the better families in town had fancy phones, with touch screens and everything. When younger you might have been overcome with jealousy but by now, you just felt relieved you had a phone to contact Kate with, old as it was.

Women aren’t supposed to fall in love with other women, they had said the day your fate was sealed, damning you to years on the farm without your family, abandoned with animals and prayers, verses read to you about how wrong you were, you’re not supposed to lust after another woman.

Sure, you had been 19 and the fire inside of you had turned to embers - and Kate was older, wiser, but if she was sent to the farm, the two of you would surely never see each other again.

Your fingers felt numb as you wrote out the message, knowing you would be in trouble if anyone ever found out you had sent it.

>They’re going to send you to the farm

You waited for a reply, but it didn’t come immediately like you had hoped. 

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours - all while you pretended everything was fine. You were with your family, listening to your mother pointing out everything they needed to get ready for your wedding. Your father talking about the money, your sister about dresses she could wear, about what hairstyles you should have.

In many ways Alice seemed more excited about your wedding than yourself. A part of you wondered if she ever found what it was about you that everyone declared an illness - or if she lived blissfully unaware of it. If she would marry for the sake of the family like you were forced to or if a young man from church would shyly appear on your doorstep and ask to court her.

If she wanted babies - while you didn’t. At least not with Philip. Not with any man. You just wanted Kate.

Kate, Kate. Your saint, your light in the dark, your guiding star in the evil that surrounded you.

Kate who had whispered that you had a choice but it wasn’t an easy one.

You knew she had been right then - and you knew she was right now.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The air was cold as you crawled out the window, your small backpack strapped to your back, nails digging into the sill as you almost slipped. You managed to get a footing on the roof, slowly lowering yourself. There was a scent of rotting apples in the air, the last fruits rotting beneath the tree, while your organs flowered and grew stronger inside your body.

Because maybe you weren’t the rotten, sick one - possibly they were. And even if you were wrong, even if it was truly demons having possessed your mind and making you sin… then you would rather sin and rot together with Kate.

You wanted to live a life where you didn’t have to worry about what was wrong with you, every minute of the day - but one with Kate where you could sin in peace, perhaps in a town that didn’t hate you for the feelings you had for each other. You wanted a life without prayers, without the constant urge to seek forgiveness from a God that never showed you any love.

Or at the very least, you wanted a death with Kate. One where your rotten bodies could disappear together, melt into the ground and disappear, away from the people who had hated you for so long.

Despite the fear and the sweet, rotten scent of the apples, you felt the strongest you ever had as you crawled down the roof and jumped to the ground - even as you fell rather clumsily, making more noise than you had planned.

A window snapped open and you looked up, staring up at Alice. Neither of you spoke, merely staring up at her.

You wordlessly begged her, no, screamed at her to not tell, to not call out for your parents. Even in the vague light of the moon you could see her drown.

Young and confused, a good girl, who reminded you terribly of your mother. Whom you loved but didn’t trust - not anymore.

Finally, your sister moved her hands - quickly motioning for you to keep moving, not to come inside. You hoped she could see the thankful smile you sent her as you got up from the grass and moved towards the garden gate. Tomorrow they would find your letter on the pillow of your neatly done bed, written with your favorite pen, on heavy paper. On top of it, the engagement ring would rest, abandoned to be worn by somebody else who would have the misfortune of marrying Phillip Graves.

Your room would seem the same except for a few missing pieces. Pictures, phone, passport and the little money you had, would be gone. Pressed into that little backpack of yours, that was currently crossing the street, wary to not be seen by anyone.

There weren’t many words on the letter, you didn’t want to leave much behind, you didn’t want them to think you would forgive them.

You are the sick ones. I am sorry. Goodbye.

Your mother would cry in the morning, clutching the paper, while your sister would have laid there and expected it all night, knowing you had run away. Your father would perhaps be able to shed a tear. If not, you didn’t care. You wouldn’t be around to find out either way.

Guilt tried following you as you crossed another street, slipping in between houses to keep in the shadows, working your way towards the Shepherd’s house. Further than that you hadn’t planned but you couldn’t return now - you would rather try and fail, than to never have tried at all. The church loomed above you, letting you walk in the shadows of it, the bells not ringing and calling out your deed.

As if the church allowed you to pass, allowed you to continue your mission, whispering encouraging words for once instead of judgemental once. Blessing your decision to abandon everything, to abandon Christ, God.

You stopped outside of the Shepherd residence, your courage shaking for just a moment, unsure of how to get in - how to get in contact with Kate. By now your plans dried up, but you doubted you would ever have a possibility like this. Kate was worth the fear that burned inside you.

The door was locked - it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it wasn’t uncommon to leave the door unlocked in your town, merely because you rarely dealt with crimes in that way- then it was outsiders who broke in. Checking several windows, doing your best to move silently around. However, you hadn’t learnt a lot from the last couple of years, other than taking care of animals, saying prayers, and singing hymns to cleanse your soul.

You found a half open window into what looked like a living room. You wished you could have crawled in discreetly, barely making a sound, like a ghost seeping into a new house to haunt.

Instead you fell onto a little table, which tipped over, a potted plant falling over, the pot shattering. The soil, barely visible in the dark, stained the floor with your fear.

However, silence still ruled the dark house, keeping you safe for now. For a moment, you wondered if there truly was a God who cared, just a little, for your broken soul.

That was until the lights turned on suddenly and the first thing you saw was a barrel pointed towards your head.

Herschel Shepherd had never seemed like a kind man to you, but a spiteful man, filled with greed and hatred. He was a respected man in the town, sure, and when he became a widower you were sure many of the other widowers dreamt of a marriage with him. He was rich, involved with the church and traveled with his company, that you didn’t even know what did. Especially after returning from the farm, seeing Kate next to him, never smiling despite having whom you considered a saint as a wife. The two of you had never talked about it but you suspected that he wasn’t a good husband. That perhaps he was open to the idea of sending away his wife, forcing her to manual labor in an isolated area for years in an attempt to control her even more.

You were willing to die for Kate, just so she shouldn’t see the room in which you had suffered. The painting of Jesus Christ who would be judging her day and night, the crucifix next to her bed, the never ending fields of loneliness, the constant repeating of the ashtasting verses and prayers, the dying hymns about love for a God that had never loved you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He snarled, not lowering the shotgun despite seeing it was only you, an unarmed member of the church.

Like a monster stepping out from a fairytale book, or a demon, ready to stop the noble Christian knight from his goal. You barely managed to speak before he did so again.

“Bloody roach,” he hissed, venom spitting from his mouth, “they should have abandoned you at the farm, let you stay mad and broken out there”

“Fuck you.” You were proud of how your voice barely shook as you blurted it out, how you got to your feet, staring at the only man in between the one you were ready to love forever.

“Shooting you will be—“ You hadn’t seen Kate come up behind him before the lamp collided with his head.

As blood splattered, you found yourself even more in love than before. Like embers filled up every bone in your body, your heart ringing its own church bells, declaring it true love. Perhaps you shouldn’t be turned on by her committing a violent act like that, yet it did, because Kate did it for you.

Kate was a savior, a knight in shining armor, even if she merely wore nightdress and a gown, her sword nothing but a wooden lamp that had blood stains on it now.

Her blue eyes staring down at the dragon that had kept her captive for years, in her own kind of hell - before your eyes finally met.

The lamp was abandoned on the floor next to Shepherd and you met halfway in the living room, embracing each other for only a short moment, before pressing your lips against each other’s.

Starved for the acceptance you had found in a woman in church, who you fell in love with, even when you knew it could end horrendously for the both of you.

Foreheads pressed against each other as you both breathed hard, fingers running over the other’s hair, face shoulders. As if to make sure it wasn’t a dream or hallucination, that you were actually both standing there in the room.

“You ok?” You whispered and her eyes flickered to the man on the floor before she answered, voice strong and steady, “yeah, better than I’ve been for years.”

You finally dared to look down at Sherpherd.

“Is he dead?” You asked, as if you only realized what she had done.

Sin sin sin sin sin sin

Killing was a sin. It was a big sin, or was one of the worst, it was— he was breathing, you realized. Chest moving up and down, even as blood from the wound from where the lamp had connected, sept into the carpet beneath him, staining it. Shotgun next to him. You could kill him. It would be an easy kill even, you would just have to take the gun, point it to his head and pull the —

“No - he will wake in a couple of hours with a headache,” Kate confirmed, hand then grabbing yours, “we can’t stay here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You liked that nickname.

“I know, I mean, I’m here to get you out-“ your words stumbled from your mouth as you followed her, only to be quieted down by a kiss. It was deeper than before even if it wasn’t long, a small whine escaping you as she pulled away again once more.

It was water after thirst, it was sun warming your skin after freezing in the snow. 

“My hero,” she whispered, touching your cheek, her blue eyes watering just a little, even as she clearly tried keeping them back, continuing,“and I know where the car keys are.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Leaving the town felt wrong on so many levels. By escaping its clutches, painful and sharp, you also abandoned what you considered your home and the safety of the church. The community it had given you throughout the years, the promises of a better afterlife, without eternal suffering.

You wanted to throw up, beg her to stop the car, fear crawling inside your throat and filling your lungs, making sobs escape as you shook. You wanted to run back, let Kate escape.

She kept driving, constantly looking over at you, as you curled together in the passenger seat next to her; she touched your shoulder, held your hand, petted your hair. Whispering sweet words, that weren’t prayers, that weren’t promises of a God who would look over the two of you. But of how the two of you would be alright, how you would figure things out.

How she could get you out of the country, how the two of you could start somewhere new, somewhere safe.

Create your own paradise. Together. 

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The two of you didn’t stop driving for hours - only stopping at a gas station to get more gas and some food. If the two of you looked weird, you in an oddly modest long blue dress, soil on it, with red and puffy eyes, Kate in a morning gown pulled tight around her waist, well then the cashier was nice enough to keep his mouth shut.

You watched the world pass by, watched nature change, the endless fields, the cows, different kinds of cars you had never seen before began to pass.

It was at the second stop at a gas station that you dared to stop for good. Car pulled to the side, Kate’s hand shaking as she took your phone and pressed a number. Then she waited, your hand holding her free hand.

The two of you sat in the backseat of the fancy car that Shepherd always rode. Hours had passed since you abandoned the town, the church, your family, your God, everything. You wondered if they had found your letter by now, if they were trying to call your phone, only to realize you had blocked them.

You wondered who they would blame; the two of you or God.

“Price,” you heard a gruff voice say.

“John,” Kate could barely say the name, voice almost trembling and you wanted to hold her tight, crawl into her lap and embrace her into a hug she couldn’t escape. 

“Kate?” The sound of disbelief, as if he had never expected to hear her voice again; as if she had been considered dead, had risen again. You were pretty sure you could hear a British accent to his voice, one you had only heard in movies, “Is that really you?”

“It is - I, John – fuck - we need you and the boys’ help. If your offer still stands.”

“Always Kate,” the certainty in his voice made you want to cry, “no matter where you are.”

—--

You abandoned the car in a random town and took a bus to the next town over, that would be close to where they would pick you up, Kate explained.

That night you slept in a motel together, close, breathing in each other’s air. Kissing each other, watching the other’s chest, just to make sure the other was alive. You listened to her heart before falling asleep, your head resting on her chest. A part of you wished that you could crawl inside her ribcage, in an attempt to get closer to her heart, to make sure she would never stop living

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You had never seen an actual helicopter this close. Once one had passed over the farm, but that was years ago and it had barely been visible. You stood next to her, your fingers intertwined with Kate’s, just like you wanted your ribs to be. You weren’t necessarily proud of how you hid halfways behind her, but she seemed so calm around the machine - which meant she had probably been around some before. Both of your clothes were moving wildly due to the air from the wings, the grass laying down as if it was a divine figure who appeared from the sky, to offer you a way to safety.

You wanted to kiss her, as you had the night before in the motel, not caring if the sins would swallow you whole, drag you to hell and let you burn for all eternity. You would eat all forbidden fruits, if it meant another minute with her - no matter how scared you were of the world outside.

No matter how much the sight of five men stepping out from the helicopter, with the engine slowly stopping, walking towards you scared you, you stayed right there with Kate. The men who stepped out seemed like divine symbols of sins, of fallen angels, ready to welcome you into the damned eternity. No verses or prayers could save you now.

One of the angels wore a skull mask, a clear representation of death and while you trusted Kate with your life, wanted to trust these men too, since she said they were close friends, you wondered what life she had lived before coming to the town, before becoming Shepherd's wife.

Before meeting you.

She let go of your hand when they got close and you almost wanted to cry, wanted to beg her not to abandon you. But then she stepped forward to embrace the man who reached them first. He wore some sort of hat you hadn’t seen before, an oddly shaped beard too – a military uniform of some sort, they all did. 

“Kate,” he said, before embracing her hard and you watched how his fingers fisted in the night gown, as if afraid she would disappear in front of you. Then his eyes found yours; while you had escaped some sort of anger, some sort of judgment or perhaps a facial expression that proved that you shouldn’t trust it, there was none. Instead his eyes and face softened at the sight of you, not looking away until he and Kate broke the embrace, his eyes almost seeming shiny as he held her face in his hands, saying it was good to see her again. Then he turned to you, while Kate turned to the next man, greeting somebody called Nikolai, who twirled her around, but you were busy fearing the other man.

He offered you his hand, movement slow, as if he could see that you were like a skittish deer, ready to bolt at the sign of any danger.

“I’m John Price,” he said as he gently shook your hand, “An old military friend of Kate.”

You told him your name, even as it tasted a little foreign on your tongue, like you had to admit who you were, to a stranger for the first time. An outsider.

“I’m…”

What were you? Somebody who had fallen in love the moment you saw Kate, who had spent years being told you were wrong, who was supposed to be married today but who had instead run off with the woman that made your heart beat.

“My girlfriend,” Kate said, “She is my girlfriend.”

Warmth enveloped your entire body and Price didn’t look upset instead he smiled. Looking happy for you, for Kate, a reaction so alien to you that you barely believed it.

The others introduced themselves. Nikolai - who also spun you around, saying you were already loved by him, much to your confusion - then the demon-looking man who introduced himself as Simon or Ghost, as if you could decide what kind of danger you wanted him to be. Then Kyle - or Gaz - who thanked you for taking care of Kate, even if he knew nothing about what happened, why the hell Kate Laswell was out in the middle of a field, wearing only a night dress and gown, why a messy looking woman in a long dressed stood next to her, looking like she was ready to run. Then Soap - or Johnny, he had added with a grin, who said he didn’t know Kate, but that his team trusted her, so he did too - as well as you. But during the whole thing, your thoughts rummaged around the word girlfriend.

You were Kate’s girlfriend. She took your hand afterwards and you smiled at her, as if you saw her for the first time once more, hoping to wordlessly tell her how much you loved her, even if you didn’t dare to whisper the words out loud.

You curled up next to her in the helicopter, afraid of the sounds, the feeling of flying, of everything. She kept her arm around you, offering you safety once more, from the overwhelming world you had never been in before.

“What the ‘ell happened, Kate?” Simon or the grim reaper looking man asked, an accent that you suspected to be some kind of British, voice rough through the microphone. You didn’t look at Kate, weren’t sure how she would even explain this. You weren’t even sure how to explain it. It had been your entire life after all.

“It’s a long story,” Kate said, giving your shoulder a squeeze, “I’ll tell you later. When we’re safe somewhere.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The UK was gray most of the time, but you didn’t really care, had grown accustomed to it as time passed.

Kate was still the light of your life. She was often busy, but you didn’t mind, knowing her burning passion for her work. You worked in a library a couple of hours a week, even if she had enough money to let you do whatever you wanted and never work another hour of your life. You went to therapy, a lot in the beginning but less and less as the years passed and you got better.

You were slowly forgetting the words of the hymns you had grown up with, and the verses forced upon you. It had taken years, but you felt like a good person. Not a sick, sinful one, even though the urge to repent made its ugly return once and again - it was easier to dismiss now, easier to talk about.

Reborn into a human being who made her own choices. Who could love who she wanted.

You had brought a house in the suburbs, big enough that you were able to have some chickens in the garden and two cats. They kept you company and kept you busy, the chickens following you around the garden, the cats sleeping in your laps and on you stomach whenever Kate was at work.

You were forever grateful for Kate’s friends, who helped you assimilate to the world, to Britain, their partners' close friends too by now. You liked looking after John’s and Kyle’s son, Johnny’s, Simon’s and their girlfriend’s dogs. Like drinking coffee or eating together with their partners or family members - you had managed to get friends through the library, who introduced you to so much literature and media that you had never even dreamt of existed.

Though, it was always Kate who brought you the most joy. You had married her, a year after you escaped together, which was a little over a decade ago. It wasn’t anything like what was planned up to the wedding you were supposed to have had with Phillip. A marriage that apparently wouldn’t even be official and recognised by the government, since the town wouldn’t tell anyone about it. Kate’s marriage wasn’t even valid, so nothing stopped the two of you from marrying.

It was nothing wild, no church, nothing you had to live up to. Your rings were simple, so were your clothes. It was at town hall, it was small and simple, John, Simon, Johnny and Kyle your witnesses - their partners, more of Kate’s friends and the few others you had met outside, ready to celebrate you. It reminded you more of a birthday party or barbeque, something like that, nothing formal. Casual clothes, food made on the grill and in the kitchen, eaten in the garden. Games played, alcohol drunk, music that you never listened to before playing softly. It was happy, simple, with Kate kissing your hand and pulling you away to kiss your lips, making you whine happily.

You finally felt happy, cured. Not from the love you had for Kate, but from the hatred and pain that had been forced on you all of your life. A life that you were ready to spend with Kate.

[analy-sing-stuff]

HI SO THE SUMMER HIKARU DIED IS ONE OF THE GREATEST MANGAS I'VE RED THIS YEAR, I CANT WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER :D

I wanted to yap a bit about how i think it's pretty much important seeing it also as a BL and how so many people are misunderstanding the beautiful relationship between Yoshiki and Hikaru but specially 'Hikaru', who he later on falls deeply in love, HEAR ME OUT OK?

🍉 This contain spoilers 🍉

In one of the first scenes of this series, we can understand perfectly what's happening to both of the main characters. Hikaru is gone, and Yoshiki has to deal with his loss even tho his friend is still there, but oops 😬 it's not really him. It's some kind of weird monster he has never heard before. It's clear that Yoshiki's mental health is taking a deep dive, NOT ONLY because he saw the corpse of his dead friend and has to live with whatever this identity is, but because apparently, Hikaru had a strong impact in his life, considering the divorce of his parents and the feeling of loneliness he felt for being "diferent" (queer in a small town). It's somehow acceptable that whatever he felt about his dead best friend is insignificant in this situation, 'cause no matter what he did, accepting reality meant losing Hikaru forever, and he decides that it's such a ubereable feeling that he wants, no he NEEDS this Hikaru around.

In conclusion, Yoshiki has to deal with grief, the loneliness of the bigotry, the loss of his childhood and the acceptance of his trauma and issues.

And 'Hikaru' is now free. He could destroy most of the village and the people living on it; but he decides he won't, because he loves, OH he loves Yoshiki. To the point He gives part of himself to this boy just to make sure he's safe. It makes sense the original Hikaru had this feelings burried inside him already but it's also clear to me that this thing, this monster experiences feelings for the first time and he can't help but feel everything in a way more intense level. So Basically, his undying love for Yoshiki is the chain keeping him on the ground when he should be this destruction and murder machine.

Do i believe 'Hikaru' and Yoshiki could be lovers?

Absolutely.

Everything on this manga is ahead of what we see, for example, when Hikaru loses his control all of sudden and turns back to his real form

Have you ever felt something so fiercely you felt like pouring your soul, or screaming off the top of your lungs?

Well, the monster revealing himself is a way to let clear how much 'Hikaru' (or rather just queer people) repress their own feelings to "fit in".

It's very meaningful how 'Hikaru' is so open and expressive (especially in a physical way) about how he feels and who he is, and Yoshiki is more of a "quiet gloomy boy" who has the deep desire of hiding himself for who he is truly (the way he keeps his bangs long is probably a manifestation of hiding away, which really makes sense)

So, yeah, Hikaru dying and coming back is this big allegory of how once you're becoming who you really truly are, and bigotry is all around, people are gonna notice something is wrong and when you come out, suddenly you are a monster.

The "old lady" interacting with both of them and specially saying to Yoshiki to "be careful not to get mixed up with him" as if it was, maybe, some kind of disease is craazy, because out of context it really matches well all of the big metaphor of "being queer in secret at a small traditional village".

Also! I wanted to point the BIGGEST allegory in this whole series.

The "Hand in the hole"

I've even seen people compare it to abuse, which honestly seems to me not only untrue, but, as someone with het comp, kind of offensive?

But yeah, that's definitely a metaphor for gay sex or at least same sex intimacy.

The catch is, Yoshiki does seem uncomfortable because, like the insides of a monster, same sex relationships are "unnatural". It gets really easy figuring out he actually likes the feeling of being one with 'Hikaru' since the second time he does it, he keeps telling himself how wrong it is, how he shouldn't be doing it, and then he forgets it, because he likes it. It feels good; However, once it starts "sticking to him" (obvious alegory for feeling guilty or dirty, like he sinned) He gets scared and runs away.

I feel that, at first Yoshiki mourns Hikaru, he Mourns their old relationship of a comfortable friendship and he doesn't understand why did his best friend had to die and become a monster, something so weird, so unnatural; but later on, they learn to accept themselves for who they are, even if they feel different in their own ways and come to terms of accepting the unconditional love they feel for eachother.

ANYWAYS, I LOVE THEM THEY LOVE EACHOTHER, IT'S UNHEALTHY, IT'S DOOMED BY THE NARRATIVE AND IT'S BEAUTIFUL

I hope everything goes right for them, or else I'll have one more year of therapy over sad doomed yaoi 😞🩷

[blooming-water-roses]

Uchihas and How They Experience Deep Love

Shameless headcanons bc we all know that no one loves like an Uchiha. (Exploration of how the deep, Uchiha-type love manifests for each individual).

(Read below cut)

Sasuke - Naruto

He begins to love him when they’re both children, when he senses that kinship between them that they’re both completely alone.

Naruto doesn’t see him pitifully like the rest of the village does. He just sees him as a rival, and Sasuke appreciates that. He gets to just be Sasuke, the talented, stuck-up genin with Naruto, not Sasuke, the lone survivor of the Uchiha Massacre.

Naruto pulls him out of his toxic need for vengeance from the time the Haku/Zabuza arc happens to when he sees Itachi again when he tries kidnapping Naruto. He works alongside Naruto as his comrade and friend, and believes that maybe he can be happy just like this in the village.

Then Itachi reminds him of his avenger goal and he’s fold he needs to kill Naruto to obtain new power, the way Itachi allegedly did to Shisui.

He leaves the village in search of new power because yes, he wants to beat Itachi but no, he doesn’t want to kill Naruto. He thinks he can get stronger another way.

This truly shows how deeply he loves Naruto—he’s willing to put him above his ultimate goal to kill Itachi by refusing to gain power by killing him.

And when he gets the opportunity to kill him, he doesn’t. Naruto is open and unconscious and he doesn’t kill him.

To Sasuke, Naruto is his biggest weakness, his Achilles heel, the one who he just can’t get rid of no matter how hard he tries.

Itachi - Sasuke & Sasuke - Itachi

Uchiha-love-ception

Because they’re both Uchiha & love each other insanely strongly I imagine their connection as an endless vortex of undying love

Itachi tried to die when he was around five years old because he couldn’t cope with the world’s darkness.

He didn’t understand what the point of anything was if one day everyone dies.

Until Sasuke was born.

Now, to Itachi, the world isn’t just death; it’s also birth.

Sasuke saved Itachi, and gave him something to fight for.

He wanted the world to be a better place so that Sasuke would never see what he had to see as a child of war.

And everything Itachi ever did (though many actions were questionable), was for Sasuke.

Sasuke was the only one he couldn’t kill on the night of the massacre, so he instead made his brother hate him to make him stronger.

He lived for eight years with declining health just so that Sasuke could get revenge and become a hero.

Even after death he tried protecting him from Madara/Tobi.

And Sasuke always held a degree of admiration for his brother, even if the memories were tainted.

He still loved Itachi to the very end, because killing him gave him the Mangekyō.

If he truly hated Itachi, killing him would have meant nothing.

He was just acting out of a broken heart, the pieces all still holding affection for his brother even despite himself.

The inner turmoil is what made him angrier. He hated Itachi but more than that, still loved him.

When he found out the truth, he made it his life’s mission to defend Itachi’s honor and protect the village as his dying wish.

He devotes his life to him even now.

Itachi - Shisui & Shisui - Itachi

Uchiha-love-ception pt 2

They are my Bonnie & Clyde

Itachi saved Shisui by giving him someone to care for and nurture

Shisui saved Itachi by showing him someone understands the complexity of his thoughts & feelings and shares them too

Itachi felt so alienated his whole life and then in comes Shisui who finally finally understands him just inherently

Idk about you but I long for someone to understand me that well, without ever needing to explain myself

I think Shisui understood Itachi better than Itachi understood himself

And for that, Shisui was Itachi’s home

Itachi looked up to him for all things; skills, technique, morals, and aspirations.

Whenever Shisui said anything, Itachi took it as the law.

There was no one he held as much respect for. Shisui made the impossible seem possible to Itachi. For him, he could do no wrong.

When he lost Shisui, he lost his North Star. This is evident in his awakening of the Mangekyō—there was no greater pain at that point in his life.

He made Shisui’s will his guiding force.

Shisui showed him that a true shinobi sacrifices, and he himself adopted that attitude.

“You must always remain calm. A worried expression just doesn’t suit you” — some of Shisui’s last words to Itachi, and from then on, Itachi hardly ever let his calm facade drop from his face. That was the law.

Itachi was just adorable to Shisui.

Everything he did, his thoughts, his determination, his will to get better—he admired it so much.

He wanted to keep Itachi away from the clan and village feud, which is why he tried using his powers without Itachi’s help.

He died with a smile on his face because he trusted Itachi implicitly, and knew he’d make the right choice.

He probably knew where things were headed, and was at peace with it.

Because he knew Itachi’s strength and will better than his own.

But it did break his heart to put Itachi through witnessing his death.

Obito - Kakashi & Rin

Loving Rin made Obito insane

Loving Kakashi made Obito hang onto his last shreds of sanity

Rin always believed in Obito when he himself didn’t. She was his pillar. For that he formed an unhealthy codependency on her.

So when he lost her, he lost his mind. He believed he couldn’t be anything worthwhile without her, and spiraled into something unrecognizable in her absence.

She became limerence to him, an unattainable dream.

Kakashi was the only one who remained constant in his life.

Kakashi brought out the last shreds of his former self.

Once Minato told Obito about Kakashi’s father, he understood immediately the cause of his actions.

He reached deep into Kakashi’s heart and told him what he needed to hear, that his father was truly a hero. Someone everyone else thought of as a disgrace, a sentiment Obito fearlessly challenged.

Because Obito never cared for his reputation. Sakumo cared too much. This difference is what drew Kakashi to Obito subconsciously.

While recuperating in Madara’s hideout, he thought equally of returning to Rin and Kakashi. Because, before they parted, he and Kakashi finally became friends.

Kakashi was in his dreams as well as Rin. They were both equally important to him.

Despite watching Rin die by Kakashi’s hand, when he went on his rampage, Obito didn’t lay a finger on Kakashi.

And he watched Kakashi live on by his grave all the time. He followed him around. He just couldn’t let go of him.

Because he wanted to be there for Kakashi through his suffering in some form.

And when they met again, Obito never ever days he hates Kakashi. He tries to entice him to support project Tsuki no Me, telling him that it’s okay, he doesn’t need to suffer anymore.

This shows Obito’s real motive for Infinite Tsukuyomi. Not to see Rin again, because the caster can’t be inside the jutsu.

But to give Kakashi an end to his suffering. To end all suffering, at his own expense.

He became Kakashi’s hero. Kakashi never gave up on him, and Obito never gave up on Kakashi either.

For him, love meant suffering greatly for the one he loves, going to great lengths to make them happy, even when the ends don’t justify the means.

He would happily become the villain in order to give his love peace.

Madara - Hashirama

Though he lost three brothers to war, when Madara met Hashirama he immediately trusted him, disregarding that he was a stranger.

They shared the same dream, just as Itachi and Shisui did. This brought them together, and this showed Madara that there was hope.

Turning his back on Hashirama awoke his Sharingan. He didn’t get them when any of his siblings died, but when he had to sever his friendship with the Senju. It put him through that much strife.

He never truly wanted to kill Hashirama. If he wanted to, he would have. Much like Sasuke couldn’t kill Naruto.

The peaceful time in the village together were his happiest days.

He named the Leaf village, and Hashirama kept the name despite its simplicity.

They would ignore responsibility to talk and be with each other. This annoyed Tobirama.

Madara’s heart broke when after being told he’d become Hokage, he overheard Hashirama accept a vote instead. He felt Hashirama hadn’t fought for his honor enough. He felt betrayed.

He showed Hashirama the stone tablet though no outsiders had ever seen it, and left because he wanted Hashirama to hurt as much as he did.

His love was so strong it turned into a deep hatred.

But not so deep that he could kill Hashirama.

Even when Hashirama killed him.

The only time he ever felt alive was when Hashirama was unleashing all of his fury onto him.

Because Madara equated love to hate, and feeling Hashirama’s animosity was the same as feeling his love.

Kagami - Tobirama

Admiration turned into unconditional love

Kagami being treated special by Tobirama probably went to his head a little

“I’m his favorite Uchiha and he makes exceptions for me what does that mean”

The second he got an inkling that Tobirama may feel some type of way for him he got tipped off the edge and fell hard

He awakened his Mangekyō when Tobirama sacrificed himself to the Kinkaku unit

Changed the way Tobirama thought about the Uchiha by proving not all fall victim to the Curse of Hatred (oh boy would I love to see how Tobirama acknowledges this play out)

I hc it as he probably was put in a situation between clan and village and chose the village in front of Tobirama (not as serious as Shisui & Itachi’s case but political of some sort maybe)

Tobirama then went “hmm this one is different”

Maybe Kagami saved Tobirama somehow?? And that’s what warranted his trust? Ugh I wanna know

Tobirama hand-picked Kagami and trusted him with his life, so it made Kagami feel important

Overwhelming protectiveness and responsibility constituted Kagami’s love for Tobirama

And since he had nothing left to protect after Tobirama (in his eyes), his spirit was broken, and a year later he succumbed to the war

Tobirama was his heart’s fire.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Am I Going To Be Homeless?

Dear MagiSoWo,

I am a fire demon raised in the 9th Circle of Hell. Being a hellborn demon I my soul and body were forged by brimstone so I don't have parents. The demons of my community raise young as a village. However, after turning 180 (18 Earth) years old I am officially old enough to venture out of the Nether to pursue whatever opportunities I would like. I have recently gotten a letter informing me of a position open as a sleep paralysis demon. The problem is that it is in a small, conservative European nation that unfortunately still restricts demons from residing there. I very much would like to take this opportunity but I don't want to be homeless or deal with discrimination. What do I do?

Hello,

We're very sorry to hear of your worries and have been pondering how to best help you, as you are not (yet) part of our physical community.

In our experience demons tend to choose between taking on a semi-permanent corporeal form to live truly among humans, or to keep their intangible state and pursue more traditionally demonic activities. Such as the role of sleep paralysis demon that you mentioned. In these cases they tend to not truly "live" anywhere, but move between worlds at will and often return Home.

If you want to take up residence in the human world more permanently, we would advise against choosing a place as inhospitable as you described. There are many places which are far more welcoming. But keep in mind that truly joining a human settlement comes with a lot of paperwork. We know that young demons often choose to spend some time possessing, haunting and manifesting before they make up their minds to settle down and go through the trouble of earthly existence.

Best of luck!

~ the MagISoWo Team

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Amidst Record-breaking Fires, Will Brazil Confront Its Climate Challenges?

Brazilians are currently living in a dystopian landscape.

Thick smoke, oppressive heat and eerily orange sunsets blanket both major cities and small villages. Hundreds of cities are exposed to dangerous levels of air pollution while thousands of hectares of forest burn. The jarring images send out a clear distress signal: Something is fundamentally amiss. 

Everybody familiar with the scientific literature understands that climate change is accelerating, manifesting as heatwaves, severe droughts, more frequent floods and devastating fires, leading to urban calamities, biodiversity loss, economic impacts and health hazards. But this spate of fires is truly exceptional. Preliminary analyses by WRI’s Global Forest Watch initiative, which monitors tree cover loss in near-real time through satellite images, show that the current fires season in Brazil is the worst in at least a decade, with more than 47,000 high-confidence fire alerts from the beginning of the year through September 16, 2024. MapBiomas data shows an 85% increase in area affected by fires, compared to the average since 2019.

Conversely, the country is also experiencing bouts of more intense rainfall, with the recent floods in Rio Grande do Sul serving as a distressing example of this trend.  

Persistent heat and shifting rainfall patterns, turbocharged by climate change, are normalizing what once were record-breaking fires, floods and landslides in Brazil. The question now is: Will they prompt action? 

Continue reading.

[zapreportsblog]

I love your answer to the question I asked. My answer would have been Whitney Houston. She is either a siren or banshee. I would have paired her with Garrett or Charlie cannot decide who.

Twilight Request

Jasper/ Major x Female Reader

The reader has powers like Naruto Uzumaki but her nine tailed beast is a wolf that is white as snow. She has long black hair down to her hips when not put up. She knows many forms of martial arts and several languages and owns several katanas. She stands at 5 ft 11 inches. She likes reading mystery novels like Nancy Drew. Her favorite tv shows are Walker Texas Ranger, Murdoch Mysteries and Murder She Wrote. She goes to the Cullens when she gets word that Victoria has created an army of newborns and that a human is with them. She goes and offer her help to them.

At the training ground, she meets the pack. One of the wolves Paul says something rude to the reader. He goes to attack her but because of her power she has the strength to lift him and pin to the ground. She tells him his bad attitude is not welcome. Jasper/ The Major is her mate.

Feel free to add or change anything.

❝snowbound savior❞

✭ pairing : jasper hale x reader

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : (Y/N), a striking young woman standing tall at 5 feet 11 inches, boasts not only flowing black hair that drapes down to her hips but also a unique gift – a nine-tailed wolf beast as white as freshly fallen snow. Her exceptional skills extend far beyond her mystical companion. Proficient in numerous martial arts and fluent in several languages, (Y/N) is a formidable force to be reckoned with. The narrative takes a thrilling turn when (Y/N) receives an urgent message: Victoria, a formidable adversary, has assembled an army of newborns and allied herself with an unsuspecting human. Driven by her sense of duty and a desire to protect, (Y/N) rushes to the Cullens, offering her formidable powers and unwavering support.

✭ twilight masterlist 2

The moon hung low in the midnight sky, casting a silvery glow over the quiet forest. (Y/N), a striking young woman with long, flowing black hair that cascaded down to her hips, stood alone among the trees. At 5 feet 11 inches, she possessed an aura of strength and mystery that drew the eye. But it was her unique gift that truly set her apart—the nine-tailed wolf, as white as freshly fallen snow, that loyally accompanied her.

She had been living a solitary life for as long as she could remember, ever since her powers had manifested. Her childhood had been a blur of confusion and fear, as she tried to comprehend the extraordinary abilities coursing through her veins. The snowy wolf, her constant companion, was her only solace in those early days of isolation.

Throughout history, she had been known as the "snowbound savior." Legends and tales had spoken of a white wolf with nine tails that appeared when one was in dire need of help. Villagers would tell stories around campfires, passing down the folklore of this mystical guardian who emerged from the depths of the forest to aid those in their darkest hours.

But (Y/N) knew the truth. She wasn't just a legend; she was real, and she carried the weight of her unique destiny on her shoulders. Her existence was a secret known only to a select few, those who had witnessed her powers firsthand or had heard whispers of the mysterious white wolf.

Tonight, beneath the silver canopy of stars, (Y/N) felt a strange restlessness in her spirit. It was as though the air itself carried an unspoken message—a call for help that only she could answer. The bond between her and the nine-tailed wolf seemed to hum with anticipation.

With a determined look in her eyes, (Y/N) turned and headed deeper into the forest, her faithful companion padding silently at her side. She didn't know where the call for help originated, but she trusted her instincts. The "snowbound savior" was on the move once again, ready to face whatever darkness lurked in the shadows and to offer her unique gifts to those in need.

The dense forest welcomed (Y/N) as she ventured deeper into its heart. Here, she felt at one with the world around her, a connection that ran deeper than blood. She wasn't just a woman with extraordinary abilities; she was a guardian of nature itself.

As she moved through the ancient trees, (Y/N) could hear the soft murmurs of leaves, the whispers of the wind, and the gentle rustling of creatures hidden in the underbrush. Nature spoke to her in a language few could comprehend, and in return, she listened and responded with reverence.

Today, however, the whispers were tinged with urgency. The very earth beneath her feet seemed to vibrate with concern. (Y/N) paused, her senses on high alert, and closed her eyes to better attune herself to the natural world.

"What troubles you, dear friend?" she murmured softly, her voice a melodious harmony with the forest's song.

In response, the wind carried a somber message, leaves rustled in distress, and the faint echo of a distant waterfall sounded mournful. Nature was trying to communicate something of great significance.

The revelation came like a thunderclap in her mind—a coven of vampires was in danger, and their fate was intricately entwined with the lives of the humans in the town they resided in, as well as a nearby clan of wolf-shifters. The balance of their existence hung in the balance, and the very fabric of the supernatural world trembled with uncertainty.

(Y/N) felt a surge of conflicting emotions. She had distanced herself from the supernatural world, seeking solitude and anonymity after years of bearing the mantle of the "snowbound savior." Her past involvements had left scars both physical and emotional, and she yearned for a simpler existence.

Yet, as she stood among the ancient trees, a profound sense of responsibility washed over her. She had a duty to protect not just the coven of vampires but also the humans and wolf-shifters who unknowingly depended on their presence.

With a heavy heart, (Y/N) raised her eyes to the heavens, her voice resonating with unwavering determination. "Nature, you have my word. I will do all that I can to help. For the sake of balance, for the sake of those in need, I will step once more into the world of the supernatural."

The forest around her seemed to sigh in relief, a symphony of gratitude and understanding. The bond between (Y/N) and nature deepened, and she knew that her path was now clear. The snowbound savior had been called to action once more, and she would honor her commitment to protect and preserve the fragile balance of the supernatural world.

The clearing deep within the forest was a training ground for the local wolf-pack, and tensions were running high as the group practiced their coordinated maneuvers. Alice, the perceptive and clairvoyant member of the Cullen family, watched their movements closely, her golden eyes scanning the scene with an intensity that never wavered.

Amidst the flurry of leaping and lunging wolves, Alice suddenly froze, her gaze distant as if seeing something beyond the immediate present. Her eyes glazed over, and her hand moved with precision as she sketched something onto a piece of paper with a swift hand.

Jasper, who had been sparring with some of the wolves, noticed Alice's sudden stillness and approached her with a concerned expression. "Alice, what is it? What did you see?"

Alice didn't respond immediately, her focus locked onto the sketch she was creating. It was an image of a white wolf with nine tails, each one flowing gracefully behind it. The creature's ethereal beauty was captured in intricate detail.

Edward, always attuned to Alice's visions, joined them, his brows furrowing in curiosity. "Alice, what's going on? What did you see?"

Alice looked up from her sketch, her eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and uncertainty. "I saw something, someone, I'm not entirely sure," she admitted. "But they're coming to aid us."

Edward's expression shifted from concern to relief. "Good. We can use all the help we can get."

Paul, who had been listening in, couldn't hide his skepticism. "More vampires?" he grumbled.

Alice shook her head, her eyes fixed on her drawing. "Actually, it looks to be a shifter like you all."

Confusion rippled through the group until Alice displayed her sketch for them to see. The wolves gathered around, their eyes widening in disbelief.

Sam, the pack's alpha, gasped as he recognized the image. "The snowbound savior," he breathed, his voice filled with astonishment. "But she's just a legend."

Before anyone could respond, a powerful howl pierced the air, resonating through the forest. It was a howl that carried an undeniable presence, one that demanded attention and respect.

Jasper turned his head toward the sound, his eyes narrowing as he listened. "Guess not," he murmured, his voice tinged with intrigue and a touch of apprehension.

As the echoes of the howl faded into the distance, the wolves and the Cullens exchanged uncertain glances. The arrival of the snowbound savior, a figure of myth and legend, had suddenly become a tangible reality. The balance of power in the supernatural world was about to shift, and none of them knew exactly what to expect.

The ground beneath their feet trembled violently, and at first, the Cullens, along with Sam's pack, believed it to be a catastrophic earthquake. Trees swayed, and the very earth seemed to roar with anger. But what followed was beyond anything they could have imagined.

From out of nowhere, a colossal figure emerged, towering over the treetops, and causing everyone to gasp in astonishment. An 836-foot white wolf, with nine magnificent tails that swirled like a majestic blizzard, stood before them. The sheer size and beauty of the creature left them breathless, their hearts pounding with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

For a moment, the forest fell into a hushed stillness, as if nature itself held its breath in the presence of this enigmatic being. Then, as if guided by an unseen force, the colossal wolf began to shift, its form flowing like liquid moonlight.

In mere seconds, the towering wolf transformed into a striking woman, fully clothed and with long black hair that cascaded down to her hips. Her piercing eyes, as ancient as the earth itself, regarded the assembly with a mixture of wisdom and curiosity.

"I suppose you must all be the ones of whom nature speaks," she remarked, her voice carrying a melodious quality that resonated with power.

Carlisle, always the composed and gracious host, stepped forward. "I beg your pardon, but who are you?"

The woman offered a warm smile, one that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. "I am (Y/N)," she introduced herself. "Nature has warned me of impending danger to this town and the nearby clan of wolf-shifters. It seems our paths were destined to intersect."

Edward, ever the communicator of the family, stepped forward to explain their situation. "A vampire named Victoria is planning an attack with a newborn army. They seek revenge because we killed her mate some time ago."

(Y/N) nodded with understanding, her gaze distant for a moment. "I sympathize with her loss, but I will not allow her to bring death into this town."

As the conversation unfolded, Jasper, who had been watching (Y/N) intently, felt a sensation he hadn't experienced in centuries. It was the undeniable pull of the mate bond, a force that tied him to this extraordinary woman. His gaze remained locked on her, and his heart raced with a newfound intensity. In that moment, he knew that (Y/N) was not only the snowbound savior but also the missing piece of his own existence.