#they are a mystery of a time gone by here

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ HOUSE OF BALLOONS (richgirl!yn | chaewon x reader )

richgirl ⭢ that girl (she’s delicious) ⭢ idon’t smoke ⭢ pretty when you cry ⭢ homesick ⭢ super rich kids ⭢ girl, so confusing ⭢ take your mask off ⭢ carmen ⭢ untitled

�� BONUNS CHAPTER | the dark sides of the moon family- the tales of the three young moons on a power trip (or slowly loosing their minds) the lost media of the young heirs that can never be found

SEPTEMBER 1st 2016

ARTICLE HEADLINE—“RICH KIDS GONE BAD??”

“a deeply unsettling video featuring moon yn, a first-year high school student, and her older brother moon jae, now in his final year, has started circulating online and it’s sparking serious concern.” click the video below ⭣

the shaky footage, clearly taken in secret, shows the two siblings in their school uniforms, each wearing a distinct chanel brooch. but this was no time to admire their luxury.

the video begins with a girl standing nervously in front of them. jae has his hand under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. his words are too quiet to hear, but his body language says enough, sharp, intimidating, and cold.

he lets go of her chin and moves his hand to her shoulder in what looks like a comforting gesture, until he begins applying pressure, pushing her down until she’s sitting against the wall. he lets out a low laugh and walks away, leaving yn standing over the girl.

yn kneels in front of her, mimicking her brother’s earlier gesture. she lifts the girl’s chin again, but where jae’s aggression was clear, yn is harder to read calm, collected, and unreadable in a way that makes your skin crawl. she says something too quiet to hear, then smirks.

as she straightens up, she turns her head, looking directly into the camera. there's a soft gasp from behind the phone as the person filming realizes they’ve been caught. the video cuts off abruptly.

the internet explodes… and then goes quiet

but as quickly as the clip emerged, it vanished. users began reporting that links were broken, posts were mysteriously deleted, and accounts sharing the video were suddenly locked or suspended. some claimed the file had been “scrubbed” from search engines entirely. a few who claimed to have saved the video reported their files becoming corrupted.

with no formal statement from the moon family and no official media coverage, the moment began to fade from public memory. a handful of reddit threads and obscure blog posts remain, clinging to what little evidence is left, but for the most part, the world has moved on.

those who still remember are left with questions, unease, and an unsettling silence.

but who they to question what’s going with the moon family? whatever yn and jae did was completely warranted obviously.

THE VIDEO IN THIS ARTICLE IS NOW UNAVAILABLE.

OCTOBER 31st 2016

ARTICLE HEADLINE—“WHO WOULD’VE THOUGHT THE YOUNGEST WOULD BE LIVING UP THE MOON NAME THE MOST?”

“a voice audio of who seems to be moon yn the youngest of the moon family talking to a teacher has people thinking only one thing, her father sure did raise her.” click the video below to hear the audio⭣

it starts off soft.

“sir…” her voice is sweet, almost delicate. “I’ve been feeling like this for a while, and my brother’s noticed it too. it seems like you’ve been treating us a little unfairly… because of our name? would i be correct if i said that?”

there’s a pause before the man responds, calm and condescending. “yes, you would.” his voice is firm, too confident. “the moons need humbling, and you prove that every day. I’ve been doing this since your oldest brother was here. he took it. so did jae. now it’s your turn. moons don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt, so suck it up, young lady.”

“oh…” she sounds hurt. quiet. small. but don’t be fooled.

“that’s too bad,” she says, and there’s a shift. some faint shuffling. her tone sharpens, losing its sweetness. “but here’s the thing… I’m not like my brothers. take that as a mental note.”

he doesn’t respond. silence.

“but anywho…” she sighs, fake and theatrical. “I should get going. it’s a shame we couldn’t come to better terms.”

then, her voice lowers to a near whisper. “but I guess everyone’s gonna love to hear about how much you like your female students.”

the laugh that follows is soft. too soft. and then, the audio cuts.

as of now, moon yn, is rumored to be a trainee under sm entertainment. insiders claim she’s been groomed for the spotlight her whole life, and based on this clip, it’s clear she knows how to perform, even when no cameras are supposed to be rolling.

but just like the infamous school hallway video of the moon siblings, this audio has vanished from the internet.

accounts that posted the original clip were suspended, links broken, files corrupted. forums discussing the audio were locked or mass reported. even users who claimed to have saved it privately say the file mysteriously disappeared or won’t play. no trace remains, and most who've heard it now speak of it like an urban legend, something you had to be online at the right time to witness.

and now, another piece of moon family history is buried.

but hey, she was so right, who was he to mistreat a moon?

THE AUDIO INCLUDED IS NOW UNAVAILABLE.

FEBRUARY 5th 2017

ARTICLE HEADLINE — “ALL THREE MOON SIBLINGS CAUGHT IN DISTURBING LATE NIGHT FOTAGE.”

a leaked clip of daeun, jae, and yn leaving an exclusive bar has resurfaced whispers about the moon family and this time, no one was laughing. click the video below to watch ⭣

it’s dark, filmed from across the street, blurry, shaky, and obviously taken in secret.

the video opens with the glowing sign of the club, an exclusive bar only frequented by chaebols, heirs, and politicians' children. entry is invite only. drinks are never cheap. and minors are never allowed.

but in the video, all three moon siblings step out of the building. daeun, the eldest and the only one legally allowed to drink, walks out first in a sleek designer coat, jaw tight with exhaustion. jae follows, swaying slightly as he pushes his hair back and looks like he’s trying to hold back a glare. and yn the youngest walks behind them both, not stumbling, but not exactly steady either.

the three of them look like they’re falling apart in silence. no one speaks. no one smiles. the air is thick.

a black car pulls up, but none of them move toward it.

daeun turns to jae and says something low. he flinches. daeun throws his cigarette down. yn leans against the wall, staring at the pavement like it’s talking to her. none of them look like they want to be there. none of them look like they want to go home either.

and then, jae lashes out, not violently, but enough to startle. he kicks something near the curb, mutters something at yn that makes her roll her eyes, and she finally snaps back. it’s silent on video, but the way they speak, no hesitation, no filter, it’s clear the masks they wear in public aren’t on tonight.

daeun rubs his temples. he looks older than ever.

the three eventually pile into the car. the door slams shut. and the video ends.

why was this ever online?

the footage appeared online late one night under the caption “are the moons okay?” and in less than an hour, it was reposted hundreds of times. viewers weren’t shocked by the drinking, they were disturbed by what it revealed.

“daeun looks like he’s seen hell.” “yn isn’t old enough to drink and she looked the most checked out.” “jae’s energy is always so off. the way he moved… i can’t explain it but it made me sick.” “why did they just stand there like that for so long? they looked so… broken.”

and then it was gone.

just like the school hallway video. just like the teacher audio. accounts were suspended, posts wiped, and copies of the video corrupted or removed. users now speak about it like some sort of cursed file — if you didn’t see it when it dropped, you probably never will.

some believe sm’s legal team got involved now that yn is a trainee. others say the moon family themselves had it buried. and a few claim it was never supposed to exist at all.

THE VIDEO INCLUDED IS NOW UNAVAILABLE.

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Piece of you- L.MN

SURPRISE!! Today is a triple special day for me, so let's get started

First of all, it's my babygirl @sweetlifeofjoy 's bday!! Happy birthday, Nari! I hope you have a wonderful day, surrounded by those you love and I wish a lot of happiness 😊 And thanks for making my day a lot funnier whenever we talk... or flirt haha

Now, the second thing I wanna celebrate, it's Minho's debut on this blog yay! I tried to make something very Lee Know coded here, I guess it's giving off his vibes. I hope you all like it

And last but not least, I want to celebrate the 700 of us. I didn't even have time to thank you for 600 so consider that a combo. I am really really grateful for each one of you. Really. You make my little heart very happy 💜🤭

Word count: 1.0k

No warnings

Alexa, play Ink by Coldplay

Minho had been gone less than a day when you found the first note.

It was tucked beneath your toothbrush, folded into a tiny triangle with a doodle on the front— a cat  version of him, with exaggerated pouty lips and two big bright eyes that he asked Hyunjin to sketch. Underneath, in his unmistakable handwriting, it said:

“Miss me yet?”

You laughed, even if your chest ached a little. Opening it, you could listen to his voice in the ink.

“Brush your teeth, sleepyhead. I’m not there to kiss you good morning, but I still expect fresh breath when I call”.

You stood there for a long moment, grinning down at the paper, toothbrush forgotten.

The next one showed up that afternoon, in the hoodie you stole from his wardrobe. You slipped your hand into the front pocket and felt it— another folded piece of paper. This one had small hearts all over it and a simple message:

“Wear this one often. It smells like me. I gave it a final hug before I left. You're welcome”

You giggled, hugging the hoodie tighter.

Minho had always been the quiet type when it came to words, more teasing than tender, but it felt like he had left tiny pieces of himself all over the apartment just to keep you company.

Every day you found a new one. One was taped to the coffee jar:

“Drink water too. No, coffee doesn’t count. Neither does bubble tea. I'm watching you”

Another slid out from between your laptop screen and keyboard:

“Take breaks. Don’t sit there for six hours straight or I will find out”

And then there was the one beneath his favorite mug:

“Play our playlist. Skip the sad ones unless you’re missing me a lot. If you do listen to them, please don’t cry while holding my mug. It’s bad for the aesthetic”.

They were scattered everywhere— beneath your pillow, taped to the ice cream lid in the freezer, inside the pages of your current book. Each one perfectly timed, each one so Minho. 

One, though, made you stop in your tracks and cackle like a hyena. It was taped to the front of the air fryer, written in red ink:

“I SWEAR TO GOD if you break my air fryer while I’m gone, I will haunt you. Not gently. I’m talking about flickering lights and mysterious cat hair in your cereal”

And then, like the cherry on top, a tiny postscript:

“(Miss you though. Please eat something that isn’t chips)”

You shook your head, grinning like an idiot. Only Lee Minho could threaten you with ghostly vengeance and still make your heart flutter.

Another note had been left on the windowsill where the cats loved to take a nap. This one was softer, written with a little paw print doodle in the back:

“Tell Soonie he’s in charge. Doongie gets extra head kisses. And Dori… can’t be trusted, so watch him”

“If they look at you dramatically and cry like they’re starving, remember: they are liars. Do not fall for it. But also… maybe give them a snack anyway”

“If they sit on your lap, don’t you dare move. I don’t care if your leg goes numb. That’s the price of love”

“PS: If you fall asleep with them like that… just know I’m gonna be insanely jealous. But also please take a picture so I can melt over it for five minutes and then pretend I’m not crying in the tour van”

You were crying laughing by the end of that one.

Each note was like a breadcrumb trail leading you right back to him, even while he was miles away.

But the note that made you sit down and press a hand to your chest, was under his pillow.

You only found it on the third day. You weren’t even looking, you were just making the bed out of habit, and there it was— thicker than the rest.

You sat on the bed and unfolded it slowly, heart stuttering.

“This one’s for the nights that feel heavy”

“You don’t have to be okay just because I’m not there to see it. I know you’re strong, but I also know you. So cry if you need to. Eat ice cream for dinner. Watch that movie we’ve seen a hundred times”

“Then call me in the morning. I’ll listen to every word. You don’t have to do this alone. You never have to”

By the time Minho called you that night, the notes were lined up across the wall, like a paper mosaic. 

He appeared on your phone screen, hair damp from shower

 “Wow”, he said when he saw the background, “I didn’t think you’d actually keep them”

You rolled your eyes, pulling the hoodie tighter around you. “Shut up, you wrote them! You thought I’d read them and toss them in the trash?”

“I mean, yeah”, he said, “That’s what you do with my texts”

“I react with a heart to them!”

Minho looked at you, inexpressible

“You reacted with a heart to ‘did you eat?’ like it was a love confession”

You bit back a grin, “Wasn’t it?”

He paused, pretending to think, then nodded. “Well, you are right. I’m very romantic”

You laugh softly before confessing, “Damn, I miss you”

“Yeah”, he said, rubbing the towel over his hair, “If I were you, I’d miss me too”.

You let out a loud, theatrical gasp and flopped dramatically back onto the bed like you’d just been betrayed.

“I can’t believe this! I’m dating a menace. An actual menace”

He blinked at the screen, “You’re so dramatic”

“You’re not even pretending to miss me!”

Minho shook his head in disbelief, “You’re wearing my hoodie, laying on my pillow, surrounded by my notes and you’re gonna sit there and act like I don’t miss you?”

You were still pouting

He rolled his eyes

“I miss you so much it's annoying” he said, “Happy now?”

“No! You said it was annoying!”

“Because I’m annoyed at myself, he grumbled, “For being this whipped”

You grinned.

“Say it again”

“No”

“Say it!”

Minho sighed like he felt physical pain

“I miss you”, he muttered, “More than the cats. But don't tell them that”

You melted instantly.

“See?” You are romantic indeed”

He huffed, but his smile lasted— warm, bright and entirely yours.

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep , @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin

[loverboysturn]

it's friday night, and both popular!chris and cinderella!reader have somewhere to be !!

masterlist for this au here

꒰ friday night. 7:40pm ꒱ you were late. again.

you were working tonight, but you had got completely carried away with an assignment you were writing in the campus library, by the time you had noticed the time in the corner of the compurer screen, you only had twenty minutes til you were due to clock in, and the diner was a twenty minute drive away from campus which meant you were already late.

you shoved the notes scattered all over the desk in front of you into your bag and left immediately, muttering under your breath in a panic as you bolted from your seat. you rushed out the library and through the hallway, sliding past all the excited students making their way to tonight’s football game, throwing out “sorry’s” and “excuse me’s” as you squeezed past them.

but then, you turn the corner, way too quickly and your body slams straight into someone.

your tote bag slips from your shoulder, and your phone that’s gripped in your hand nearly goes flying, but a strong arm wraps around your waist just in time, catching you just before you can stumble backwards.

“woah, careful.”

you had collided with chris sturniolo, the football captain, campus’s very own golden boy, the guy that everyone wanted to be, and the girls wanted to be with and right now, he was also campus connect's most spoken about student.

his brown hair was pushed back like he had also been rushing to get somewhere, his chest was rising and falling beneath the palms of your hands that laid flat on his chest to balance yourself. for a second, neither of you moved. his hand still wrapped around your waist steading you, his eyes locked on yours.

“you good?” he asked you, his tone of voice sincere.

you nodded, your throat had gone completely dry. “yeah… i’m so sorry, i didn’t see you, i was rushing because i’m gonna be late and i—“

“you’re good, it happens” he interrupts, a smile forming on his lips. “don’t worry about it.”

you step back, brushing your hair that had fallen from your claw clip out of your face, and you were still a little breathless from all the rushing around, “i—i really have to go, i’m gonna be really late for….something.” you say quickly, the words coming out before you can even think about it, and you almost feel embarrassed to admit to the most popular boy on campus that you’re headed to the diner, like always. “i’m sorry again, chris.”

you’re already turning to go, when his voice stops you.

“be careful next time, clumsy.”

you don’t look back at him, you just keep walking, your heart pounding harder in your chest than it was before.

chris stayed where he was, even though he should’ve been in the locker room ten minutes ago, tonight’s football game starting in twenty but he stands watching you until you’re out of sight.

something about the way you rushed off, the way you apologised to him made him want to make sure you were really okay, that you hadn’t dropped anything on your way out, that you had made it to wherever it was you were rushing to on time but before he could think about your run in any longer, a voice called out to him.

“chris, hurry the fuck up!”

it was matt, leaning his head out of the locker room, reminding chris that he was already running late.

CAMPUS CONNECT | NEW POST POST BY: ANONYMOUSBUZZ Was it just us or did Chris Sturniolo seem distracted during tonight's game? 👀 Not exactly the start we were expecting from our golden boy on the first game back this year. Is he distracted because he's still hung up on the head cheerleader break up, or are the rumours true and he was scanning the bleachers for a new mystery girl? Either way, his head was not in the game. — 🐝xoxo

꒰ 🏷️ tags ꒱ @ribbonlovergirl | @oopsiedaisydeer | @herevphoricwriting | @leaningoutthewindow | @backwardshatnick | @sturnslutz | @maekieuwu | @ellssturn

[iluminatka16]

"From beyond the stars" Chapter 3

Chapter 2 [Chapter List]

Summary: Why it's not worth insulting the Emperor and a conversation with the main culprit of the whole Heresy, Horus.

Tags: isekai, ending up in a fictional universe, primarchxf!oc, found family trope, emperor and horus make an apperance

Warnings: mention of failed suicide attempt, cursing, typical canon violence, mention of child abuse

Word count: 2773 Edit: FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHIG THAT IS HOLY AND UNHOLY, I ACCIDENTALY PUT FEW WRONG TAGS, AND TUMBLR ISN'T ALLOWING ME TO DELETE THEM (*screams of despair*). no, this isn't emperor x reader fic

Unfortunately, she was not given peace of mind this time either. Before either brother had time to answer her, heavy rhythmic footsteps sounded behind them. Yelena turned toward the sound and sighed quietly. It seemed that Custodian had returned to his post. But since he was walking towards them, it meant that either they were in trouble for talking to her, or the Neoth wanted something from her.

“The Emperor is expecting you.” briefly without explanation. Of course, she could have tried to inquire, but she knew perfectly well that it would have accomplished nothing. The bodyguard of the most powerful man in the galaxy probably didn't know himself what exactly was going on. Because why share his plans with anyone? What could have gone wrong? Let's think. Ah well! All this mystery led to a fucking heresy and Neoth looking like a zombie from The Walking Dead.

“Looks like I'm in trouble. Farawell gentlemen, if I survive then I definitely need to have a chat with you.” Yelena extended her finger in front of her and moved it to none other than the primarch, after whom the aforementioned heresy was named. “Especially with you Horus.”

“Horus? I thought most baseline humans call me My Lord.”

Yelena only smiled.

The road through the golden corridors was a torture. Lack of sleep, hunger, anxiety. All this made her think she was going crazy. She had barely been here, and she had managed to insult the fucking Emperor himself and break his ban. Three times! She was not supposed to talk to the primarchs, and she talked to three of them. And also with Curz. It's a good thing the Heresy of Horus hadn't happened yet, because if she had met that version of Konrad… well, she still remembered the passage in the book about him, where he decided to murder almost the entire crew of the ship and torture the only survivor. On top of that, there was still that fucking Custodian. Not only did he not react when the Night Haunter followed her footsteps into the garden, even though the primarchs were also forbidden to go near her, but he also walked away from the site of his post-

Wait a moment.

Custodian is no ordinary soldier who simply runs away from his post to go play cards. Even if his family was dying in front of him, he wouldn't move unless the Emperor himself gave the order… THAT BASTARD.

The door to the spacious study closed behind her, and Yelena was left alone with Neoth. The man was staring at a holographic map projector of some planetary system in front of him, not even raising his eyes to look at her.

“You set me up.” Yelena didn't care about the titles at this point, feeling her rage boiling inside her. She thought that she was indeed going mad from lack of sleep.

“You said they could be saved. Testing your words was the only option. Admittedly, my plans for your first confrontation looked a bit different, but you handled everything yourself by running out into the garden. It was a matter of time before Curze followed you. From what I noticed, you are like a magnet for my sons. I was honestly surprised that none of them broke my prohibition and entered the chamber I assigned to you. But I must admit that you have done remarkably well.”

“Talking to him was "doing remarkably well"? He didn't take anything from my words, an-”

“Konrad spent the whole night talking to you.” The Emperor interrupted her, finally lifting his gaze from above the map. “That's more than his brothers accomplished in their years of Crusade together. And you managed to get him interested in just a dozen minutes of discussion together.”

“So what do you expect me to do?”

“Since you were able to get to Konrad, it should go easily with the other primarchs. You know their mentality, past and future. You know what awaits them.”

“And then what?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Yelena slowly approached the table. She didn't even think about her next words.

“Let's say I'll stop the heresy, which might be difficult, because there's a chance I'll accidentally make things worse. Great, you have your generals, you're not trapped in a golden chair, undergoing torture for ten thousand years. You've conquered the entire cosmos. What's next? Are you going to get rid of them like you got rid of the Thunder Warriors?”

Neoth slowly straightened up. Probably it was the action of his power, but Yelena felt an unpleasant shudder run through her body under his gaze. She felt so small, so insignificant. Like a bug that he could trample with his shoe. Well, and here his was a mistake. She was so familiar to this feeling, that it only fueled her rage.

“Careful…”

“Because what? Are you going to kill me?” Yelena hissed, clenching her hands into fists. “Just like you killed those who opposed you? Because so far I am the only one who knows the exact course of events of the heresy. You don't know them, otherwise you wouldn't have ended up the way you ended up in the books with the whole Imperium going to shit.”

“Don't overestimate yourself. You are not as important as you think. The fact that you're still alive is due solely to my grace. One more word and you'll end up in a cell, where I'll extract this information from you with torture.”

“Even knowing the exact course of the heresy, you wouldn't be able to stop it. Do you know why? Because you are an bad father who sees, men who blindly obey you, as tools in your Great Fucking Plan.”

After that, there was only pain. Yelena felt like her body went up in flames. Blood gushed from her nose and filled her throat, running down her chin. Suddenly standing became too painful and before she knew it, she was collapsed onto the floor, convulsing in pain. She had no idea what was happening, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. It was hard to tell how long it lasted, but suddenly everything went quiet. She was still on the floor, choking on her own blood, and standing over her was none other than Neoth.

“Maybe the world you were born into is much softer and merciful, but there are different rules here. I have killed for lesser offenses than loudly insulting me. You are weak. You are a nobody. And killing you will be like squashing an ant with a shoe.”

As if to confirm her words, Yelena felt his boot resting on her head. She wasn't stupid. She knew that he could easily split her skull, mix bones and brain. One push. That was all it took. The fact that he hadn't done it yet meant that he was giving her a chance to apologize. For her to beg for mercy.

The problem was that she felt no fear. Only rage. It was as if she was again a child being beaten by her father using his belt, trying to break her. If he wasn't able to do it, she'd sooner die than let a fucking fictional character do this. Even if she was going to die for it.

“And you're an arrogant prick whose own personality made all the perpetuals run away from him, then his sons, who loved him above life, betrayed him, and his Great Plan went to shit.”

Yelena was panting like a wild animal caught in a trap. Her eyes were wide open, and although her view was partially obscured by the man's boot, she stared ahead with almost burning gaze. Her bloody face was contorted in a grimace that she had worn more than once when dealing with bad fathers.

“I can kill you at any second, and yet you are not afraid. All I can sense from you is rage. You are filled with hatred. You say I am arrogant, yet look at yourself. Too proud to yield even in the face of death.”

Yelena did not answer him. She merely clenched her jaw, waiting for a push to fix what should have happened when she jumped off that bridge. But to her surprise, no, shock, instead she felt the pressure on her head disappear and a strong hand grabbed her arm and lifted her to her feet. Oh fuck, how painful it was. Her muscles forced to move ignited, drawing a broken whimper from her mouth.

“The pain will go away soon.”

Easy to fucking say. Yelena had no idea what was going on until someone pushed her to sit on a armchair, clearly made for the measurements of primarchs, and a silk handkerchief was placed in her hand.

“Get yourself in order.” The Emperor muttered, resting his hands on the beautifully decorated table. “You mentioned two times that… how did you put it? The Imperium went to shit. What is the fate of humanity after my sons betrayed me?”

Yelena thought for a moment about telling him to fuck off after the way he treated her, but decided she didn't feel like testing her luck any further. “Ten thousand years have passed, you are immobilized on the Golden Throne, the Imperium is attacked from all sides. It is ruled by corrupt fanatics and the Inquisition… ah yes, the Inquisition are also corrupt fanatics.” With a quick movement, she wiped the blood from under her nose and moved her handkerchief to her chin. “Chaos is attacking with new power, on top of that new enemies have appeared - Tau, Necrons, Tyranids. You almost became the fifth god of chaos, and ten thousand years of constant torture probably destroyed your psyche to the point that you were probably no longer yourself. And also they made you into a god in whose name they kill others or even themselves.”

Fucking Lorgar.

Neoth nodded slowly. “What do you expect in return for your help?”

“Excuse me?"

“You don't want to help me kill potential traitors, so I expect you to help me stop them from descending into chaos. Death threats don't work on you, so I'm asking what you want from me in exchange for your help.”

Yelena thought for a second. “First of all, nothing will succeed without your help. Be their father, even if you don't see them as your sons. Teach them about the threat from the chaos gods, explain Warp to Magnus, help Konrad with his madness. Just… take care of them. Second - when the Great Crusade is over, don't kill them. Let them live in peace, in the way they choose. Third… if you decide to kill me after all this is over, I ask that you do it quickly. Don't send me to the Astra Militarum to die there, just kill me in my sleep. So that I don't have to suffer.”

“You're not going to beg for your life? You know that I am able to make you a lord of some rich pleasure planet, or give you a place in one of my offices. Why don't you beg for it?”

Yelena shrugged her shoulders. “You will do what you think is right. I only ask that if you decide you want to kill me, that you spare me the suffering.”

“It's a deal then. I will change my attitude toward my sons, and your death will not be painful. You have my word.”

She had no idea if he was lying. He had done it many times in the books, so she could expect pretty much anything. This time, however, she did not question him. If, after what she told him, he still decided, to be stubborn, there was nothing she could do. They talked for a good hour, where she briefly had to explain to him what tyranids and tau were, but in the end, perhaps seeing that she was actually barely keeping her eyes due to the exhaustion, he took pity on her, ordering the Custodian to escort her to her chamber. Unfortunately, she couldn't have a moment of peace here either, as she was caught on the way by none other than Horus. Primarch, of course, demanded an explanation, which she refused to give him until they were both in her chamber.

“Can you explain why you insist so much that we talk in private? You run like a rabbit from me.” Horus began, watching as Yelena sat down on the bed

“Because if anyone were to hear that you were responsible for the heresy named after you, which almost killed your father, placing his almost corpse on the golden throne and led to the death of most of the primarchs, one of us would be in a lot of trouble.” The girl fixed her green eyes on him, silently hissing in pain as she moved her aching body a little deeper into the bed.

“Oh”

“Oh, definitely. The corruption wasn't necessarily your fault, but what happened next… well. The death of trillions of people, with the Imperium in shambles. Also you killed Sanguinius.”

Horus stared at her in silence. She wasn't sure if it was due to disbelief in her words, or if he simply ran out of words.

“How do I know you're telling the truth? That sounds absurd. Even leaving aside my loyalty to my father, I would never hurt my closest friend.”

“The gods of chaos make mush out of your mind. And why would I lie? It was your father who first tried to boil my blood alive and then almost smashed my head with his shoe. All because I called him out and refused to give him your name, among other things, as a potential traitor.”

Silent footsteps sounded and after a moment the mattress next to her depressed downwards under Horus' weight.

“Why did you risk so much? And if it's true… what made me turn my back on my family?”

“Well… I think each of you has a chance to avoid this fate.” Yelena took one strand of hair between her fingers, trying to brush away the dried blood that was on the tip. “Your fall to chaos was the fault of Erebus and Lorgar. You were seriously wounded in battle and a ritual was performed on your dying body. Erebus appeared to you as someone you trusted, unfortunately I don't remember the name, and showed you a vision that after the Great Crusade was successful, the Emperor would rule as a god and kill the primarchs as soon as they were no longer useful. You believed this vision, and then after talking to Erebus, you joined the chaos gods.”

“Lorgar? How long has he been a traitor? Has he already become one?”

“Has the Monarchia been destroyed?”

“No.”

“So he hasn't become one yet. I have no idea exactly where in the timeline we are, but incydent in Monarchia was actually the beginning of what I know as the Horus Heresy. Erebus, on the other hand… well, he's been a pawn of the chaos gods basically since he was a child and is currently manipulating Lorgar.”

Another moment of silence from Horus. “We need to get rid of him, but we can't openly kill him without evidence. I'm guessing that father prefers that your… origins remain a secret, so I can't use your words as evidence. I also can't attack and kill him without reason, after all he is an acolyte of Lorgar.”

“We need to talk to your brother. And actually with all the brothers. If the original heresy can be stopped, there is a chance that another of its variants will happen. From what you said, Lion is already furious with your father for giving me so much freedom.”

“Don't worry about Lion, I'll talk to him.” Horus got out of bed and walked toward the door. “You'll have a chance to talk to the other brothers, because they're all coming together for the great feast father is throwing to celebrate the tremendous victories during the Great Crusade. I, Sangunius, Lion and Curze arrived first, but from what I've heard, Magnus, Guilliman, Vulkan and Perturabo should show up in a few days. The rest will show up within a month.”

“Oh Lord…” Bonus: The collage I created for Yelena. Yes, she was a singer and performed in the theater.

Author's note: I would like to apologize for going so long without a chapter and for this one being so short. A lot has happened in my life, and college has done to me what Vulcan did to Konrad using his teleporter, which was also a hammer. In addition, the writer's block is still biting me in the ass. The plot begins to slowly unfold, and I guarantee that not every primarch will be so friendly (calling Perturapo a “manchild”? what could go wrong). Tag list: @beckyninja @athenaremo @justfreakynothingelse @lukarus @synfiction @thatnightlamp @pirateshippers-first-mate @amoelcafe12345 @zyra-7 @walking-natural-disaster @vithralith @ihasnopen @mooniequeen @kit-williams @roxygobyebye

[back2bluesidex]

One Last Contract - MYG, JHS, KNJ

3. When The Past Hunts

Pairing: Contract husband!Yoongi X contract wife!Reader, ft. Keeper!Namjoon and Ex-fiancé!Hoseok  

Theme: Mystery, angst, smut, dark, morally grey characters, soft yandere (no non-con or dub-con)

Summary: 

As a professional wife, you have no choice but to say yes to marry Min Yoongi - a mysterious yet intriguing man. But as you start living with him you discover things that meant be secrets, and it may end up being your ruin. Will your keeper aka bodyguard Namjoon and your ex-fiancé Hoseok, who abandoned you without any explanation, be able to pull you out of grasp of the man who you are falling for?

Warnings: soft yandere, SMUT, Fingering, mentions of death and abuse (nothing triggering). NSFW!!

Inspired from The Trunk (K-drama)

Banner designed by the utterly talented, the kindest, the nicest soul on earth, the one and only @kingofbodyrolls, Lissa. 😘😘😘💜💜💜

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (For early access)

A/N: Here we go.

Read the full series on Patreon

Memories, sometimes, are like broken records. 

Nothing sounds pleasant when you put those in play. Hence, those are mostly stacked in the back of the mind to collect dust on the surface, to get old with age and to haunt back from time to time in the shape of nightmares. 

When your fingers touch the record cover at first, you don’t understand what it is. It is unlikely to have something so dusty in a kitchen cabinet. As you pull your hand out, you see your fingertips being coated with dust aging back from where you have no clue. 

You squint at the particles - several questions swirl inside your brain. 

If it was another time, you would have left it be. But somehow you fail to contain your inner demons whenever it smells the faintest smell of information regarding Min Yoongi. 

You don’t know why. You don’t know how. You just know you want to know him more, better, and destroy yourself in the process of it. 

So you slide your hands at the back of the cabinet again. Your toes hurt from bearing the entire weight of your body but you don’t care. 

When you pull out the dusty object - you find it’s a record player. The thing is so old that it has lost its original colour. Everything is maroon and black now, the edges are ripped in tiny slits. There is something written in Chinese with big bold letters, you don’t even try to read or understand. 

You rather focus on the contents inside. When you tilt the sleeve a little, a record, a polaroid of an USG and a tiny note spill out. 

The note says, “Min Yoongi, you killed me” in a scratchy handwriting, suggesting it was written with very little to no care. 

In an instant you know what it is. 

“She made sure I have a copy of her suicide note. She wrote two of those. Kept one where she died and one in this so I have something to haunt me from time to time.” Yoongi says in a hushed, flat tone. The lack of emotions in his voice suggests that he has no regret or anger or anything else left for the woman. 

Again, you don’t startle. But you wonder if Yoongi is pissed at you for digging his personal belongings, something he already warned you against once. 

You meet his eyes, but there is no sign of negativity. He is not staring at you but at the objects in your hands. 

“She was two months pregnant when she died. I didn’t know.” 

“And what if you did? Would you not instigate her suicide then?” the words leave your mouth and you do nothing to conceal or sugarcoat those. 

Yoongi chuckles drily as he finally looks at you, looks into you. 

“I didn’t instigate anything. But I am glad that she died.” 

If you were normal, this admission would have run your blood cold. But you guess your blood has already gone dry, so your veins fill with an excitement - an oddly comforting one. 

“We all have a past that we are not quite fond of. Right, Y/N?” Yoongi’s eyes glint with mischief or something akin to a spark that ignites from knowledge. 

His eyes tell you that he knows. That he knows enough about you. 

And you know he has all the resources and power to find out who you are, what you have been through. 

A cryptic smile spreads on his face. With that scar and his gums on display - Min Yoongi looks like a teenager with a thousand year old soul. As if he had killed cats to stay young. 

When you shake off his presence - his words register in your mind - word by word - meaning by meaning. 

We all have a past that we are not quite fond of. 

Min Yoongi hinted on your bruised, ragged past - something that you have been trying to leave behind, something that has been bothering you - in the shape of a recurring nightmare. 

You force a laugh out, trying your hardest to appear nonchalant and numb. Even when you are anything but. 

A flare of anger, hurt, feelings that you thought you buried long ago, resurface. And you laugh it off again. 

“What do you want for dinner?” you move around the kitchen to distract yourself. 

“You” the reply comes. 

“Y/N.. we can’t- we can’t get a hold of him.”

“What- what do you mean by that?” 

“I don’t think he is coming.” 

“No. n-no! No no no no! No he can’t do this to me. He can’t. He loves me. He lov-” 

“You okay?” Yoongi shakes you awake. Your eyes open within a fraction of a second. Even though it takes a little bit of time to adjust your vision to the darkness of the room - Yoongi’s glossy, feline eyes pierce down your sleepy, hazy ones. 

He flicks on the bedside lamp, you blink to adjust again. When you are done, you nod in affirmation, “nightmare.” 

You are drenched in sweat. Your forehead, the back of your neck, your pillow feel extremely damp.

“So this is what happens to you” he leans down, partially hovering above you, “when the past haunts.” 

You divert your eyes from his. Looking into those hypnotic orbs may do more damage than good. 

“Want me to distract you?” the words are spoken right inside your ear.

“Why not?” you reply, turning your head towards your temporary husband again. 

His lips close around yours. You kiss him back in an instant. 

If anyone asks you about the peak benefit of this contract marraige with Min Yoongi, you will choose sex in an instant. 

He makes up for the lack of physical intimacy you had been suffering from before meeting him.

His hand makes its way inside your underwear, rubbing on your clit, making you moan in his mouth. 

Without any warning, he pushes two of his fingers in and scissors your velvety walls. Your waist bucks to meet his greedy fingers deeper within you. 

His ruthless motions pushes you closer and closer to your climax. 

Just then your phone vibrates with a text on the nightstand. You have half-mind of ignoring it but then it’s your company's rule to attend important texts and calls no matter when and where. 

So you extend your hand and retrieve your phone. 

You read the texts from the lockscreen. 

It’s your best and only friend, Soomin. Her texts are read: 

“Y/N!!!! Jung Hoseok is back!!!! He just called me to ask about you!!!!!!  I said I don’t know anything!!!!!!! He said he will call again if he needs help!!!!!” 

Your orgasm dies down. Anger takes up the hollow place. 

“What is it, darling?” Yoongi asks, sensing your disconnection from the pleasure he has been providing you with. With his fingers still seethed deep inside you, he says, “Hope it’s not about another man, hm? I told you, I don’t like to share what’s mine.” 

His eyes have that maddening look that you have come to love and fear at the same damn time. 

Next Chapter

Permanent Taglist:

@chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @armystay89 @ryryvna @purple-realms @ssbb-22 @miniesjams32 @mar-lo-pap

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

“Love’s Gonna Get You Killed”

Chapter 4

“Familiarity”

Synopsis: A wounded mafia heir stumbles into a late-night convenience store, where a quiet clerk patches him up. He walks out—but can’t stop watching her. As danger circles and their worlds quietly collide, one question remains: Can you stay untouched in a life soaked in blood?

Word Count: 1,430

Karina X Male Reader

You woke up to the same hollow feeling.

Smoke curled in the morning light as you leaned on the balcony, coffee in hand, the bitterness biting at your tongue. Yesterday’s ambush still clung to your memory like a shadow, and then it clicked.

Why the convenience store?

Of all places—you hadn’t gone there out of instinct. Someone knew. Someone led you there. Why?

Elsewhere, deep in the uncharted base lit only by dim bulbs and rage, Suijoon stood with bandages wrapped tight around his ribs, eyes burning with unfinished vengeance.

“Boss,” he said sharply, bowing just enough to feign respect. “I’m done with recovery. Give me the authority to kill Y/N.”

The man sitting across the room didn’t look up from his files. Calm, collected—dangerous. “Stop with your impatience,” the boss replied, voice like gravel. “Do you have a death wish?”

Suijoon stepped forward, bristling. “Are you saying I’m incapable?”

A beat of silence.

“I’m saying you’re immature.” The boss finally met his eyes. “And that, alone, is what separates you from him.”

Suijoon’s jaw tightened, fists clenched. He wanted blood. But more than that—he wanted to matter

It was midnight.

The city felt quieter tonight, like it was holding its breath.

“Jun-ho,” you said, slipping on your coat, “I’m going out again.”

“Where to, sir?”

“42nd.”

He nodded, though his brows twitched slightly. “Shall I prepare a car? Or your motorcycle?”

You shook your head. “I’ll take the bus.”

Jun-ho blinked. “The… bus?”

You gave a faint smirk. “People watching. Kinda relaxing.”

“��Take care, sir.”

The bus hissed to a stop in front of the dimly lit convenience store. You stepped out, hands in your coat pockets, eyes catching that familiar glow of fluorescent lights and soft indie music humming from inside.

Karina was there, stacking cans. Same aisle, same focus—until she saw you.

“Welcome to Ko—” she paused, eyes wide. “Ah… you.”

You gave a small nod. “Hi, Karina.”

She straightened up awkwardly and bowed slightly. “Hello, sir. A pack of cigarettes?”

You nodded.

She retrieved the pack, slid it onto the counter, hesitating before speaking again. “Not to be nosy, sir, but… aren’t you kind of addicted to smoking?” She looked up at you with gentle concern. “It’s bad for your health, you know.

You looked at her, then at the box, then back.

“Am I?” you asked.

It wasn’t sarcastic. It was just quiet. Tired. Maybe even curious.

Karina let out a soft chuckle. “I mean, yeah. You’ve been here three times and bought cigarettes every time. That’s a bit suspicious, don’t you think?”

You tilted your head slightly. “Maybe I just like the ambiance.”

She arched a brow. “Ambiance? Fluorescent lights and expired cup noodles?”

You shrugged. “Has its charm.”

She smiled, finally easing. “So… do you always show up to convenience stores at 2AM covered in blood or…?”

You smirked. “Only on weekdays.”

Karina laughed then, a real one this time, leaning slightly on the counter. “Well, mystery man, got a name? Or do I just keep calling you ‘sir’?”

“…Y/N.”

“Y/N,” she repeated softly. “Okay. Better than ‘guy who bled on aisle three.’”

There was a brief pause.

“You always work the night shift?” you asked, voice quieter now.

She nodded. “Yeah. Pays a little more. And it’s quiet. I like quiet.”

You looked around. “It is quiet. Kind of peaceful, actually.”

Karina glanced at the empty shelves, the humming lights, the silence between you both. “Peace is rare. I try to keep it when I can.”

You nodded, folding the cigarette pack in your hand. “Do you ever get scared? Working alone at this hour?”

“Sometimes,” she said honestly. “But you get used to it. Or maybe you just learn not to flinch at shadows.”

You were quiet for a moment. That hit a little too close.

She noticed, her tone softening. “Sorry, was that too much?”

You shook your head. “No. I get it.”

Karina offered a small smile. “Everyone has something they’re running from. Even if it’s just bad thoughts at night.”

Your eyes met hers. For a second, everything felt… still.

She broke the silence again with a gentle laugh. “You really took the bus just to get cigarettes?

“Yeah? Is that weird?”

“Yeah,” she replied with a laugh. “But I guess everyone’s weird in their own way.”

You smirked, slipping the pack of cigarettes into your coat. “Well, the cigarettes here hit different.”

She tilted her head. “You’re full of it. Just admit you like loitering here.”

You shrugged. “Can’t help it. Feels warmer in here.”

“I set the thermostat to twenty-two. Very generous of me,” she said, crossing her arms with mock pride.

You chuckled. There was something about her — not the uniform, not the tired circles under her eyes — but the way she stood there, barely holding herself together and still joking around like nothing could break her.

“I’m not a smoker,” she said suddenly. “So I can’t relate.”

“I don’t recommend it,” you replied. “It kills you slow.”

“Well… so does debt.”

You blinked. She grinned like she just won a game.

“Dark humor. I respect it.”

“Survival humor, actually,” she said, fiddling with a pen behind the counter. “You work late hours too?”

“Something like that.”

“Must pay well, whatever it is. That coat looks expensive.”

You glanced down at your blood-stained-not-long-ago designer coat. “Would you believe me if I said I was a night-shift poet?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Absolutely not.”

You both laughed, a little too genuinely. She looked away quickly, like smiling too long might shatter the moment.

“I paint, sometimes,” she said. “When I’m not working three jobs.”

“Really? What kind of stuff?”

“People. Dreams. Sometimes nightmares. I don’t know, it’s dumb.”

“It’s not,” you said. “Not at all.”

She looked at you again. Really looked. For the first time, she noticed something underneath your sharp edges. The weariness. The loneliness. The way you always choose this store over a hundred others.

She didn’t ask why.

And you didn’t explain.

But in that quiet moment, under flickering fluorescent lights and half-stocked candy shelves, you started seeing her differently. Not just the girl behind the counter.

But Karina — debt-ridden, clever, sarcastic, tired, unbreakable Karina.

And somehow, that made the cigarettes taste less bitter.

It started as nothing. A cigarette run. A half-hearted excuse.

But then it became a habit.

Twice a week. Then every other night.

Sometimes, you’d talk about nothing — snacks on sale, weird customers, why strawberry milk tasted like childhood.

Sometimes, you’d sit in silence, just nodding at each other from across the room.

She’d always be restocking something. Taping boxes, pricing ramen, fighting with a soda machine.

You’d always come after midnight. And she never asked why.

One night, you brought her a coffee. Just one. She looked at it, confused, then smiled like it was the nicest thing anyone had done for her in months.

“Thanks… I’ll pay you back.”

“You won’t.”

She didn’t.

Another night, you sat by the window, watching streetlights flicker while she closed up early.

“You come here like it’s a ritual,” she joked.

“It is,” you replied.

No one laughed. But no one needed to.

Then… there was that night.

[That Night — Around 2:40 a.m.]

Rain poured outside, drumming soft against the glass.

Karina was slumped behind the counter, hugging her knees, the store empty and quiet. You leaned beside the fridge, sipping on canned coffee.

“You okay?” you asked, finally noticing the stillness in her face.

She didn’t look up. Just traced circles on the tiled floor with her finger.

“I have about 43 million won in debt,” she said quietly.

You didn’t say anything — just listened.

“My parents died when I was sixteen, Car crash”

She looked up at you now. Her eyes weren’t teary. Just hollow.

“They left behind a house full of bills and a name the banks don’t forget.”

You crouched down beside her, resting your elbows on your knees.

“And yet you still joke about thermostat settings.”

She chuckled, breathless. “It’s either that or cry every day.”

You didn’t offer advice. You didn’t tell her it’ll be okay.

You just sat with her. Let her breathe.

After a while, she nudged your shoulder with hers. “You still gonna keep coming here, now that you know?”

You lit another cigarette, blew smoke toward the flickering light.

“Yeah. I think I will.”

She smiled. Not out of happiness, but relief.

And that night, for the first time, she didn’t feel like just a clerk.

And you didn’t feel like just a shadow.

[judgeanon]

Don't Look Back in Anger - BATGIRL #7 Review

For the first issue after the opening arc of their new BATGIRL series, Tate Brombal has recruited Isaac Goodhart for a mission. The objective: to tell the definitive Lady Shiva origin story.

Here's a recap and my own lengthy-ass thoughts on this first half of it, transplanted from the other hellsite that shall not be named:

The issue begins with Cass taking a train to the West with a mysterious envelope in her hands. Inside the train, she gets a little flashback to the events of a few issues ago, and it's extremely nice to see that Goodhart is following Miyazawa's lead and drawing Shiva with visible age lines and such. I really love that look for her, even if Spicer mixed up the coloring of her coat.

Cass' surprise gift turns out to be a book with two cranes on its cover and a walkman, of all things, which contains a tape recorded by Lady Shiva, who explains that the book is her "life story." Awful nice of her to include an audio book version for Cass, although Shiva's self-pitying "dead, perhaps even for the better" and her talk of legacy already rub me the wrong way.

Although Puckett heavily implied that Shiva had grown tired of her violent life back during his Batgirl run, and Gabrych explicitly had her say that she had Cass at least partly so that someone would be strong enough to kill her if she ever became a monster, I'm just not a fan of that kind of Shiva. I find the whole remorseful assassin looking for a way out thing more than a little cliche, and more importantly, I don't think it fits her Taoist inspirations, her spirit of living purely in the moment, without attachments to the past.

But whatever, I'm sure this will be the only thing I disagree with in this issue. Right?

The meat of the story begins with a flashback to Shiva's childhood with her sister and their parents, nomads travelling the Himalayas. Shiva's narration mentions "blue moons" and "hidden worlds" in the stories her mother told her, maybe suggesting a connection to the Unburied.

Just as importantly, it introduces her sister, who Shiva describes as being her other half.

Violence arrives in the form of an army of red ninjas straight outta GI Joe who butcher the girls' parents and stain young Shiva's face in their blood, planting the first seeds of revenge. And alone but together, the sisters reach the door of a monastery, where one quick timeskip later, we see how that has gone for them.

Shiva, who we now learn was called Ming-Yue, is training with the monastery monks while listening to a very interesting lecture by the abbot. Particularly notable are the two middle panels of the page, which seem to foreshadow Shiva's eventual role as a challenge, an "agent of suffering" meant to help others find and overcome their obstacles. And some always welcome multi-armed imagery to boot.

It's a pair of panels that'll make any longtime Shiva fan smirk knowingly, and it's very cool to see some actual Hinduism slipped into her new backstory, but I think it only tells half the story. Shiva is not just a destroyer, but can and has given life back to those she chooses to help. I know Brombal is aware of that, so I hope he includes it later.

The next scene shows a bit of the sisters' life in the village surrounding the temple, and this is where I started to notice what Brombal and Goodhart are doing. Compare the first panel of that page:

... with the opening panel of BATGIRL #73, which was the last time someone tried to do a comprehensive origin of Shiva:

One of the greatest strengths of this issue, to me, is how Brombal & Goodhart have taken a handful of panels from a few pages of an issue that's almost 20 years old by now and extrapolated an entire personality for Mei out of that. Whereas Carolyn barely had hints of a personality, those hints are here full blown elements of her character. The cute smiles Pop Mhan gave her are now a bubbly, cheerful demeanor that carries on through almost the entire issue.

And that is something that this issue does a lot: it takes what Brombal has certainly identified as the key elements of Sandra and Carolyn's story, the parts that he considers important and worth keeping around, and removed all the specific details to build a new origin around them. More on that later.

For now, we have the introduction of some familiar bad guys: a mob of bandits called the Blood, which are obviously meant to be connected to that neatly-dressed Wu Lin fellow from the previous arc. And we get to see what a GREAT time Goodhart is having drawing kung fu badassery.

After the fight, there's a nice page that pours some water on that seed of revenge from earlier, while also planting a new one: Shiva's drive to be perfect. It's a perfectionism that we know she will pass on to Cass, but here, is tied to her sister, born from a deep love for her.

The next centerpiece scene is another of those connections that Brombal makes with BATGIRL #73, this time not with its art but with its writing. Gabrych in that issue described Sandra & Carolyn's fights as a "dance":

... and here Brombal & Goodhart make that fairytale metaphor real:

And although the setting of the scene is a callback to BATGIRL #73, the double page spread of the sisters dancing is also a callback to the last six issues of Brombal/Miyazawa's newest run, using the same double page spread structure they've used so far for fight scenes. But where Shiva & Cass' spreads were tableaus of violence and chaos, this one is a soft, flowy performance, all swooping motions full of strong character expression.

All the while, Shiva's narration gushes about her sister in a very sweet way that's also a bit poignant when you consider this is the world's greatest fighter talking about the person she herself once looked up to, not just because of how she fought but because of how she moved. It's a moment of understated vulnerability for Shiva, describing her sister like this, begging Cass to understand just how good she was. The use of movement as a descriptor in particular lands particularly well, considering that's how Cass would really get to understand a person.

But once again, an army of red ninjas shows up to crash the party, and the parallels with Shiva and Cass are made even more evident:

Where Shiva struggled to make her daughter even listen to her, she was perfectly able to communicate with Mei without even a word. And what hits about this particular callback is how it shows not only what Shiva has lost, but also maybe what she's trying to recover: a connection, someone she can communicate with as clearly as she used to be able to talk to her sister. And as we already read in previous issues, Shiva does see a lot of Mei in Cass.

The next pages quickly introduce a bit more of the Blood's backstory and powerset, but more importantly, their leader: a brawny shirtless fellow who turns out to be the sisters' uncle, who speaks of a forbidden love union and promises to grant them their birthright. If I had to bet, I'd bet a few bucks that Shiva's father was of the Blood, while her mother was a member of the Unburied, and they had a bit of a Shaw Bros Romeo & Juliet going on.

But here we get another of those little remixed moments, as our big baddie notes that Mei is holding Yue back, both physically and metaphorically. This is maybe the most overt reference to BATGIRL #73, and big bald ninja fellow is clearly echoing David Cain's intentions from back then.

Hell, it's probably not even intentional, but #73's narration made references to sparks and fanning flames, and this issue does have a village set on fire so...

Fortunately, the sisters are saved by their master and escape the burning village, putting an end to this first chapter of Shiva's new origin. So... what's good about it?

Goodhart's art is VERY good, for starters. I knew the man could draw from CHRISTOPHER CHAOS, but his work here is rock solid and full of beauty. The panels are gorgeous, the shadows are evocative, the action's delightfully dynamic and Spicer's coloring brings everything to life. Although speaking of colors, here's a small detour:

Throughout this issue, Mei's color is yellow, perhaps as a nod to her colors back in her first appearance in KUNG FU FIGHTER #2. But also, we've seen Shiva wear a yellow crane on her back. And the book that Cass is reading has two yellow cranes on the cover.

So it's not a stretch to assume that yellow is a color that Shiva still associates with her sister. And wearing different animals with that color on her clothes is her way to metaphorically carry Mei on her back at all times. It's a small touch that highlights how much of Mei still lives in Shiva's memory.

Writing-wise, I appreciate Brombal's approach. You can see which parts of BATGIRL #73 he thought were important, the parts that spoke to him and that he chose to build from, and it's neat to see him remix them, adding new settings & events but mostly going for a "Yes, and" strat. However, this new origin already runs straight into one of my big pet peeves about any Shiva backstory.

Whether it's being raised in a village of assassins or just being a child prodigy at karate, I've always found the idea of Yue/Sandra being raised to be a master fighter a little limp. On some level, it feels like a lack of confidence -- like nobody will believe a completely normal girl would be able to turn herself into an invincible fighter with just a few months of training. No, she has to have been raised to be Shiva, she has to have been special from birth, she has to have (apparently) ancient warrior clan blood that may or may not turn into swords.

She HAS to be DESTINED to become, at the very least, something like Lady Shiva. But I find the idea of Sandra being someone who had never raised a hand in anger before Carolyn died to be a thousand times more powerful than that.

It's not something that was ever explored in previous comics (and I'd argue it doesn't have to be), but Sandra turning her back on every single part of her being except her desire for revenge, then getting that revenge and finding herself unable to just become Sandra again, is the journey that gives her backstory weight in my opinion. It's the story of a woman deciding to turn herself into something else to achieve a goal and finding herself unable to return to who she was.

If Yue/Sandra was already special, if she was already halfway to becoming Lady Shiva when her sister dies, then she's not really turning her back on nearly as much than if they had been normal girls. There's less emptying of the self involved, less destruction of Sandra and less creation of Lady Shiva. And in a way, there's also less agency involved.

Sure, Sandra was very much tricked into trying to kill Richard Dragon back in her first origin, but turning herself into a jump-kicking death machine was very much her choice, as was to continue being Shiva once her revenge had been completed. Once you establish that she was always special from birth, then her decision to become Shiva carries less weight. Because it's no longer someone erasing their nature to create and embrace a new one, but someone whose nature was always there deciding to shake hands with it.

Which is not a bad story per se, but it feels less unique. Any attempt to make Shiva pre-Carolyn's death special, to me, always has the unintended effect of making her less special. That's my main beef with this issue, and maybe with the entire idea of writing a new Shiva origin. What I personally consider the key blocks of Shiva's origin are all post-Carolyn's death, while Gabrych and Brombal place them before that death. To me, the key is never so much Shiva's lust for revenge, but what she does with her life once she gets that revenge.

My secondary beef with this issue is the general atmosphere of Shiva still being haunted by Mei's memory. For the same reason I don't like a remorseful, self-loathing Shiva, I don't like a Shiva who's still tortured by the spectre of her sister. I think Shiva is far more interesting as someone who by all means should be haunted, should be burdened by this tragedy, but who has detached herself from so much of the material world that it's become a thing that happened, a thing that created her, but that no longer affects her. Shiva, to me, works best when she's living exclusively in the moment, closer to the Zen ideal of a life lived without regrets.

All that said, I do enjoy how much character Brombal gives to Mei. I'm aware of how I sound when I say that the most important part of Carolyn's character is dying, so I like that Brombal has taken these little hints of personality from the BATGIRL #73 flashback and crafted practically a whole new character out of them. And I'm especially excited to see her in the next issue, hanging out with Ben Turner and Richard Dragon.

Back in that original run, Carolyn was turned into a damsel in distress and a woman in a fridge with ghastly speed, so getting to see her actually being a character is bound to be cool, even knowing where it's gonna end.

To wrap things up, like the best parts of this run so far, I can see Brombal's vision, and I appreciate it, even when I disagree with the direction he's headed. I don't like this self-loathing, blood-destined, haunted by the past version of Shiva, and I probably never will, but I really value the craftsmanship and thought that's been put into this story.

I imagine #8 will be more of the same, with a few guest stars, but I'm interested in two things: First, just seeing what Brombal's going to do about the big white-haired elephant in the room he himself teased in the final page. And second, I'm interested in seeing if maybe, just maybe, having this definitive origin of Shiva around will help writers become less interested in her past and more in her present, and hopefully her future.

I'm really tired of Shiva only ever appearing in relation to Cass, and while this week has shown us how much of a colossal Monkey's Paw that can be, I'm hoping this will somehow provide a foundation that more people can feel comfortable building on. That's all, y'know, wishful thinking based on nothing.

It's entirely possible that this will just usher a whole new era of stories about Shiva's past or something equally pointless, but a fan can dream. Maybe someday, maybe soon, the "Book of Shiva" will be more than just the name of a mini-arc in her daughter's book.

[jayden-killer]

Aftermath.

Eddie's death took a huge toll on you and his uncle.

warnings: mentions of death, hints of depression, bad language.

A/N: jeez. I didn't want to, but I had to.👀 It's gonna be long, so grab the tissues. Also, my taglist is now open! If you want to be tagged in my next upcoming stories, comment below!

The feeling of emptiness that I was experiencing at that moment was not comparable to anything else in the world. Without emotion, my eyes did not move from the coffin placed around the attendees, arranged in a circle. Not many people showed up to Eddie’s funeral: his uncle, Dustin, Steve, Robin, Nancy, the friends from the Hellfire, a long-time friend of his, Ronnie, moved to New York to study. I was there too.

I didn’t mind getting dressed up well for the occasion. Why would I? On one hand, I know Eddie would have wished for the opposite, but on the other hand it was impossible for me to make the slightest effort. It had become impossible for me to try to carry on a healthy routine. Fiddling with my cold fingers, my gaze shifted to his uncle. Wayne Munson was wearing a black suit. I read on him the anger, sadness, pain, despondency and regret that characterized his gaze. A real sea of emotions. The bags under his eyes had become more prominent; he hadn’t even thought of shaving. I noticed that the silver beard had become much thicker since the accident. Dustin instead cried in silence, sometimes trying to contain himself, in vain. A few days after Eddie died he told me that he would have taken his place. That he should have thought of a plan B, that he should have gone with him to fight those monsters. "I made an appointment with a good tattoo artist. I will replicate his bat tattoo," he said with a forced smile. But of course. He didn’t want to show how hard he hit him.

Fuck. My fingers were tingling again. They felt the desire to hold something. Someone. I promised myself not to cry. I promised not to be so vulnerable, not to give in. However, how can I not give in when I know that my beloved is now about to be buried underground and I will no longer have the chance of having him here next to me?

Me too. I would have taken his place too, Dustin.

It seems like an eternity since Eddie was buried. The funeral had been held in a secluded area of the cemetery to prevent citizens of Hawkins breaking in with torches and forks. As a result, Eddie’s own grave lay far away from the heights, in a small hill. Just for safety and to avoid imminent vandalism. Unfortunately, this solution did not last long. There are those who had discovered where it was. So, when I happened to visit it, there was no lack of decorated inscriptions on the stone, in capital letters, like "satanist" or "burn in hell". Can’t even a dead man have some peace? I cleaned it from top to bottom, changed the faded flowers, tried to keep it in place each single time. The stupid people of this shitty town didn’t seem to want to give up. Even today it didn’t seem to be any different.

I inhaled and exhaled, kneeling on the ground and gently passing a hand over the red paint-soiled stone. This time they used a can. Even worse. I don’t think it will come off so easily. They had even left him some weeds that emanated a nauseating smell. Probably piss. "You are shits" It came out with disgust, not too low. I wanted to be heard.

At that moment I listened carefully. The steps became closer and closer until the mysterious figure turned around me. I recognized him from his build.

"Sooner or later they’ll stop." That’s all his uncle Wayne said, placing a bouquet of mixed flowers on his tombstone. He seemed… changed. I don’t know if to say in positive or negative; surely he had thinned his beard and fixed his hair. He also seemed to have lost a few pounds. I looked away, shook my head in sign of surrender. "For me it is absurd. Persecuted even by death". Wayne pulled out of a small bag he had with him a damp sponge. He scraped the stone and I noticed that the colour was coming off. Maybe it wasn’t as I thought. There was a tense silence; the only noise was the occasional passing of cars from afar, the chirping of birds. I feared that I had made a mistake in uttering that phrase, not until his eyes were on me. However, I saw him soften.

"Sooner or later they will tire themselves," he began, breaking into two the silence that enveloped us until a few moments ago, "and realize that it was not worth pouring all this hatred on an innocent boy."

Innocent.

Eddie was just that. Throughout his life he had always been mistaken for the criminal on duty, the one who performed sacrifices in the most remote classroom of the school and enjoyed doing so, but Eddie had never been anything like that. He was the boy who wanted to indulge in warm caresses and hugs after a busy day at school. He was the boy I admired because he could get in on the ball when it was necessary. He was the boy who showed love in the most unconventional way ever. He was just a boy mistaken for a sheep disguised as a wolf. The scapegoat of a city built on ignorance and skepticism towards others.

I swallowed with difficulty, taking a seat closer to his uncle, contemplating the stone now washed. Wayne then turned his eyes to me, and it was that look that caused a heartbreak. I could see through the dark irises of the mature man my dearest boyfriend, as if he had never left. This made me burst into tears and I did not try to stop myself as my body trembled from the sobs. I was so caught up in crying that I didn’t notice even Wayne did the same. With a hand pressed to the face, he sobbed, letting the tears flow on his cheeks and then fall on the ground below us, squeezing with force the sponge still moist. Immediately my thoughts went to him and the relationship he had with Eddie. Eddie himself confessed to me one summer evening that he was very close to his uncle, to consider him as a father. "Even if I never say it openly, I love my uncle very much" I remember that he said it to me with a mixture of sweetness, calm and affection, still feeling his ringed fingers massaging the base of my head.

He continued by telling me how his father, a very selfish guy called Al Munson, had abandoned him more than once, returning when the need arose. Wayne disapproves of his behavior, considering his brother a real thorn in the side and a bad example of father. When Al was arrested, Wayne had decided despite Eddie’s eighteen-year-old age that he should still go live with him. He did not lack anything: a modest roof, food, clothes. "Wayne will like you, you’ll see. Initially it is very on his own, but when you start to know him, he becomes unstoppable. He has a great repertoire of jokes". "Ah, so now I understand who you got it from!" I reply immediately, laughing heartly.

Eddie threw his head back, bursting into a genuine laugh that made my heart beat faster. How I would have liked to hear that melodious sound again.

It was too late by now.

Eddie was dead and the only consolation left was to share an excruciating pain with his uncle. Wayne Munson held me close to him; I let him do it. I was not the type of person who would be easily embraced, let alone by a man three times my age, but at that moment he felt the need. In the graveyard resounded our cries, our emotion, our sorrow for a person who would never return. A draft of wind ran through my bare arms. At the center of the stone laid an animal, a bat. A bat with dark fur, scratching his head with the back claw. With my eyes clouded by tears, I looked at the beast in confusion. Impossible. If reincarnation existed, then it meant that Eddie…

Eddie never left. Perhaps it was now his task to watch over us, to make sure that we did not indulge too much in the sea of despair that had accompanied us during that seemingly endless time. I didn’t call Wayne in time that the animal spread its wings, flying away elsewhere. A bat… with the sun so high. It had to be a sign. It was him. It might have been difficult to surface so fast. Eddie was here, though. Spiritually, he was there. And we would return to the shore successfully. Not today, not tomorrow, but we would reach it. I will never forget the true love of my life. And Wayne will never forget the son he loves.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @cowboylikemunson @zanate-in-the-stars @jeangeniex

[aventurineswife]

The Language of Flowers | HSR Men x Reader

“The Language of Flowers” is a short, symbolic series where you, the giver offers flowers to various HSR Men, each bouquet chosen to reflect their personality, story, or emotional state. Through carefully selected blooms, themes of admiration, healing, remembrance, and unspoken emotions unfold. The flowers become a silent form of communication—revealing what words cannot, bridging distances, soothing wounds, and deepening bonds. Each interaction highlights how something as simple as a flower can carry powerful meaning, offering quiet comfort or heartfelt recognition.

Part 1: Yellow Acacia

Symbolism: Secret love, optimism, enlightenment, happiness.

For: Sunday, Aventurine, Ratio

A quiet offering of Yellow Acacia—bright and warm like sunlight held between fingers. It speaks of unspoken affection, of feelings tucked safely behind smiles and passing glances. To each, it carries something different: a hidden heart, a shared spark, or the hope of something more. Whether noticed or not, the meaning lingers in the petals.

Part 2: Amaranth

Symbolism: Unfading love, faith, immortality.

For: Sunday, Dan Heng, Blade

Amaranth, ever-blooming and defiant of time, is left behind like a quiet vow. It is love that endures beyond distance, beyond silence, beyond scars. To some, it is a reminder that no matter the path taken—or the pain endured—what was once true remains untouched. A bloom that never fades, even in the harshest hands.

Part 3: Aster

Symbolism: Patience, daintiness, good luck, admiration, elegance

For: Sunday, Aventurine, Jing Yuan

Aster—soft-spoken yet steady, offered like a wish whispered into the breeze. It carries grace in its petals, a quiet kind of charm that lingers long after it's gone. Given in admiration, it says: 'I see the poise beneath the bravado, the calm behind the smile.' A small bloom, but never insignificant—just like the moments shared.

Part 4: Arbutus

Symbolism: Love, resilience, endurance; the strength and beauty of the human spirit through suffering

For: Dan Heng, Boothill, Blade, Jing Yuan

Arbutus is not a loud declaration—it’s the quiet strength in staying, in trying, in healing. It’s offered when words fall short but presence says enough. In moments of stillness and shared glances, it speaks of hearts learning to trust again, of pain not erased but understood. Beneath the bloom is a promise: we grow, even here. In soft confessions and silent protection, something fragile begins to bloom—resilient, and real.

Part 5: Asphodel

Symbolism: Death, mourning, the underworld; remembrance and the afterlife

For: Blade, Phainon, Mydei

Asphodel is not a flower given lightly. It speaks of things that linger—grief that doesn't vanish, love that refuses to fade. It blooms in shadow, not to glorify sorrow, but to honor what was and what still aches quietly within.

To offer Asphodel is to say: I carry your memory, even when you cannot. It’s laid down in moments of silence, of held hands, of choked-back words. For those who have lost parts of themselves in battle, in time, or in love, it is a fragile balm—reminding them that in mourning, there is still connection. That in darkness, a soft bloom can still rise.

Part 6: Baby’s Breath

Symbolism: Everlasting love, purity, innocence, new beginnings

For: Sunday, Aventurine, Dan Heng

A sprig of Baby’s Breath—delicate, almost weightless, yet carrying so much. It’s the gentleness of feelings unspoken, the quiet wonder of something new. In tender moments and lingering silences, it offers comfort without expectation. There’s no rush here, only the slow unfolding of trust, of hope. It speaks of hearts finding light again, of beginnings wrapped in softness. Not a grand gesture, but a gentle one—pure, and full of promise.

Part 7: Belladonna

Symbolism: Danger, deceit, mystery, and beauty

For: Aventurine, Blade, Moze

Belladonna blooms with a beauty that warns—elegant, but edged with shadow. It’s the flower you don’t pick without consequence, the feeling that lingers long after it’s gone. Given in silence, it reflects truths too sharp to speak, desires tangled with doubt. In them lies conflict: the fear of being seen and the aching need to be understood. Love here is not soft—it is complicated, aching, cautious. But in its weight, there’s growth. In the darkness, the first flickers of clarity.

Part 8: Strelitzia

Symbolism: Joyfulness, paradise, freedom, anticipation, faithfulness, love, thoughtfulness

For: Sunday, Aventurine, Phainon

Strelitzia stands tall—vivid, striking, impossible to ignore. It’s the promise of something just ahead, something worth the wait. Given with a quiet smile, it carries both joy and yearning: the kind of love that grows not from ease, but from choice. In every glance and softened word, there's faith—faith in what could be, in what’s already blooming between the lines. Even in sorrow, the flower does not droop. It looks forward, always, to the moment hearts finally meet without fear.

Part 8.5: Carnation

Symbolism: Love, devotion, distinction (meaning shifts with color)

For: Mydei

They looked away not out of disinterest, but out of self-preservation. In the face of a warrior too striking for their own good, they found safety in petals—carnations soft at her feet, blooming as if to catch their heart before it wandered too far. From then on, their hands tended to flowers, not men. Their devotion became silent, their affection buried in soil and scent.

Years passed. War changed faces, titles shifted, and one day—he remembered theirs. Not the shy glances, but the stillness. The calm. And now, when the weight of his battles becomes too much, it’s their presence he seeks. The herbalist with a quiet heart and a garden full of memories. He doesn't need to ask for flowers. They give them freely—while he’s still here to hold them.

Part 9: Amaryllis

Symbolism: Love, beauty, strength, determination, resilience, hope, achievement

For: Ratio, Boothill, Mydei

Amaryllis stands proud—bold in bloom, yet born from quiet persistence. It doesn't open all at once; it unfolds slowly, purposefully, like feelings long held close to the chest. This flower is given not in the height of certainty, but in the glow of almosts—of long glances, lingering touches, and unsaid things that echo between shared moments.

To love like this is not weakness—it is strength. The strength to wait. The strength to feel. To hope. In every gesture, there's a silent promise: I see you, and I won’t look away. The bloom is not a confession, but a beginning—bright, unshaken, and steady. Just like them.

Part 10: Yarrow

Symbolism: Healing, youthful love, everlasting love, protection

For: Phainon, Aventurine, Dan Heng

Yarrow is a healer’s flower—ancient, enduring, laced with quiet strength. It doesn’t pretend to erase pain, but it stands beside it, offering protection where words cannot. It’s given to those still piecing themselves together, those who carry guilt like a second skin, and to those who’ve forgotten how to receive kindness without flinching.

This bloom is not a cure—it’s a hand outstretched. A reminder that love can be both tender and strong. That hearts can heal in time, even if they remember where they broke. It asks nothing but honesty and offers only this: You are not alone anymore.

Part 11: Asphodel (Revisited)

Symbolism: Death, mourning, the underworld; “remembered beyond the tomb,” “my regrets follow you to the grave”

For: Blade, Mydei

Asphodel does not whisper—it lingers. In soil stained with ash and blood, it rises, pale and unwavering. A flower not for celebration, but remembrance. Given in silence after the storm has passed, it is a tribute to what was lost, and to what still haunts the living. The words never said. The hands not held. The guilt that clings like a second skin.

But even here, among broken ground and weary hearts, there is softness. In sharing grief, in tending wounds both old and new, something fragile takes root. Not absolution—but understanding. And in that quiet, when armor is shed and silence is no longer feared, there is a kind of healing.

A flower placed not just in mourning, but in love. The kind that endures, even when it can no longer be spoken aloud.

Part 12: Borage

Symbolism: Courage, joy, resilience, emotional fortitude, solidarity

For: Dan Heng, Ratio, Phainon

Borage is the bloom that rises when everything else has fallen—bright against the wreckage, stubborn in its will to stand. It’s given not in victory, but in survival. In the aftermath of storms, it speaks of the courage it took just to endure. Of strength found in trembling hands. Of the quiet bravery behind soft words and guarded eyes.

To offer Borage is to say: I see your struggle, and I stand with you. It doesn't ask for heroism. It honors vulnerability, the resilience of those who’ve carried too much and kept going anyway. In the hush after battle, when the armor is heavy and hearts are heavier, this flower is a reminder—you are not alone, and you never were.

Part 13: Burdock

Symbolism: Clarity, courage, protection, purification

For: Sunday, Mydei, Phainon

Burdock clings—not to trap, but to connect. In the soft brushing of shoulders and the burrs caught on fabric, there’s an old truth: sometimes affection sticks before we even know it’s there. It’s a flower of quiet courage—the kind it takes to show up, to speak gently, to stay close even when words falter.

Offered in passing, almost teasingly, it marks a shift: feelings once hidden now brushing the surface. A game in childhood lore becomes something more—Will it stay? Will it fall? And when it stays, they notice. They always do.

In shared laughter and long looks, in steady hands and half-spoken thoughts, Burdock blooms. Not loudly—but persistently. Like feelings that simply won’t let go.

Part 14: Cactus Flower

Symbolism: Endurance, protection, love, resilience (with colors deepening meaning)

— Yellow: Heat, security, endurance

— Red: Love

— White: Endurance

— Pink: Gentle love, spontaneity, thoughtfulness

For: Boothill, Jing Yuan, Phainon

Cactus flowers bloom in defiance—thriving where others wither, unfolding petals in the most unlikely places. They don’t bloom often, but when they do, it’s unforgettable. Each color tells a truth: heat and safety in yellow, tenderness in pink, unshaken love in red, and strength woven into silence in white.

These flowers are not soft because life was easy—but because they survived anyway. Offered to those who’ve lived through storms with laughter still in their throats and warmth still tucked behind guarded hearts, the cactus flower is both armor and affection. A slow burn, a steady root, a love that refuses to give in.

In every careful glance and lingering touch, the message is clear: You are safe with me. You are seen. And you are loved, even in your thorns.

Part 15: Camellia

Symbolism: Love, devotion, admiration; meanings shaped by culture and color

— China: Eternal love, union of two lovers

— Japan: Divinity, grace, beauty, perseverance

— White: Purity, innocence

— Pink: Long-distance love

For: Dan Heng, Ratio, Jing Yuan

Camellias bloom with grace—elegant, deliberate, and full of meaning. In their silence, they speak volumes. Each color whispers a different truth: white for the innocence still clung to after wariness, pink for love stretched thin across space and time, and red for the quiet vow—I choose you, still.

Camellia doesn’t beg for attention. It is simply placed. Gently. Unmistakably. A bloom that falls only when ready—and always with its other half.

Part 16: Cape Jasmine (Gardenia)

Symbolism: Love, purity, trust, spiritual connection; often associated with weddings and sacred bonds

For: Sunday, Dan Heng, Phainon

Gardenias do not shout their meaning—they are felt in the stillness. Given in moments when words tremble or fail, they represent a kind of love that is earned, not rushed. Trust, fragile and precious, weaves itself into the heart of this flower. A silent vow: I see you. I trust you. I respect you.

Cape Jasmine is not about grand declarations. It's about being there when it matters. About love as sanctuary. About trust being sacred.

Part 17: Cardamine (Cuckoo Flower)

Symbolism: Rebirth, hope, thoughtfulness

Folklore: Said to be sacred to fairies, the cuckoo flower was considered too wild, too otherworldly, to bring indoors—lest it bring misfortune. Yet even so, it blooms in spring, where frost once lingered.

Cardamine isn’t loud in its promise. It doesn’t offer perfection or erase pain. Instead, it marks the return—of warmth after cold, of feeling after numbness. It’s given not to forget the past, but to say: you can begin again. In the moments where guilt still whispers and grief still clings, it becomes a symbol of choosing to live anyway.

This flower is found in quiet glances, in shared silence, in held hands that no longer flinch. It’s the first step after sorrow. The slow breath of something new. A love that grows not in spite of pain, but beside it.

Part 18: Cherry Blossom

Symbolism: Life and death, beauty and violence, transience and renewal

Cherry blossoms fall even as they bloom—petals soft as breath, yet heavy with meaning. In their brief, brilliant lives, they remind us of everything fragile and everything worth holding onto. A contradiction in motion: love born in chaos, peace found in battle-hardened hearts, tenderness blooming beside pain.

To give a cherry blossom is to acknowledge that life is short, but meaningful. That beauty can exist where sorrow once lived. That something fleeting can still be profound. It’s for the moments of stillness between storms, when a glance carries a thousand unsaid things. When comfort is given not in words, but in presence.

They do not last. And that is why they matter so much.

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[darling-devil2099]

A confession under the starry sky - Elderlily (Elder Faerie x White Lily)

I love them sm aoiabzhevzoquzfoha

Anyway have some fluff my pookies ______________________________________________________________

Another day has passed, the sun was already gone hours ago, letting the moon take its place. It was a beautiful night : no clouds to hide the stars and a full moon. The brightness of it was reflecting on the water of the small pound in the Faerie Kingdom.

A faerie was standing on the bridge of that small pound, watching the night sky. He rarely has the occasion to see such a scenery.

Elder Faerie couldn’t take his eyes off of the shiny stars. He always loved them, they were mysterious and captivating. The king saw them like guardians who watch over the world and its fate. The more he kept his gaze up there, the more he thought that nothing could make him look away.

-Your majesty ?

A soft and familiar voice called. At that moment, he realized he was wrong. There was a thing that could make him turn his gaze. After all, anyone would look away from something beautiful if it means looking at something even more beautiful.

Elder Faerie’s eyes leaved the starry sky to meet hers. -White Lily ? What are you doing at this hour of the night ?

He asked, quite curious and also surprised to see his friend.

-I couldn’t find sleep... So I thought of going for a walk. What about you ?

White Lily replied, walking to him so they could stand next to each other. She liked this place, it was calm and peaceful. The faerie knows that if she isn’t around, he’ll sure find her here.

-I was simply watching the stars. The sky is clear tonight and so we can see them perfectly.

Elder Faerie replied, watching her beauty.

The ancient hero surely had no idea of how often he thinks about her. He couldn’t stop seeing her in his wildest dreams or even imagine how her lips could feel against his... He knew he shouldn’t think like that but he couldn’t fight his own feelings.

-Yeah... I always liked to watch them. I didn’t expect you to have the same hobby as me.

White Lily approved with a gentle smile. She then looked up at the sky and putted her hands on the barrier of the bridge. The king simply nodded and gazed over the stars again.

They both stayed in a comfortable silence for a while. The silver haired man, who had his hands on the bridge’s barrier too, was hesitating to move them closer to hold hers. In the end, he didn’t and decided to speak again.

-May I ask you why you can’t sleep ?

The silence that came after wasn’t really as comfortable as before. White Lily didn’t know if telling him would be a good idea...she never told anyone about this. She looked down, avoiding any eye contact.

-I’m sorry. It’s probably too personal, you don’t have to tell me...

Great... Now she felt uncomfortable. Elder Faerie would have slapped himself right now if he could. What an idiot he was to think she would say something personal.

-Don’t apologize. I do want to tell you but... I just worry about what you could think...

She then said, her eyes meeting his again. The woman knew he won’t say anything bad so why being so scared ?

-I just... I miss my friends... I mean...it’s been a while that I miss them. But being here in the Faerie Kingdom makes me feeling less lonely than before. Of course, I do sometimes still feel a bit down like tonight.

She explained. It felt good to tell this to someone.

-I understand... Being away from loved ones is painful. But I’m glad that my kingdom can offer you comfort.

Elder Faerie said, his expression soft and caring. He cared about her deeply and didn’t want to see her feeling bad. He was also here to help her feeling better.

-Thank you, your majesty. You truly helped me remember who I am and I will forever be grateful. You also are one of the rare people who listen to me and understand me... I’m lucky to have met you.

Her words were coming from the heart, that was sure. White Lily took the king’s hands in hers, was it the first time they held hands ? Maybe but she wasn’t sure.

-White Lily...

The faerie’s heart skipped a beat when their fingers intertwined. He felt quite touched by her words. They both were facing each other, the moonlight shining on their face and the stars reflecting in their eyes. The atmosphere was worthy of a romantic film.

The white haired woman’s heart was fighting against her mind. She wanted to listen to her feelings but her reason was telling her not to... What should she do ???

-Sorry... Am I killing the mood ? I mean... You were just here to watch the stars after all...

-No, not at all. I’m glad you told me that. You’re not alone, Lily. There’s people who loves you, never forget that. I’m sure you’ll see your friends again soon.

White Lily blushed, she knew Elder Faerie was including himself in these people. He didn’t have to say it. Her expression was more peaceful, like she was relieved from some sort of weight. She moved a bit closer, her hands moving up to rest on his shoulders.

Everything happened quickly after. Their faces got closer, a tension clearly building up. They looked into each other’s eyes again and before they realized, there was no space between their lips anymore. It was a gentle and quick kiss but it meant a lot for both of them. The silver haired man thought it was a dream, even after the contact.

It was the loving look on the ancient hero and her words who made him realize that he wasn’t dreaming.

-And I love you. I love you more than anything else.

These words meant so much right now... Elder Faerie smiled back at her, his shocked look fading away.

-I love you too. You mean the world to me, White Lily.

They both were smiling like young teens in love but who cares. White Lily had confessed to the man she was in love with and he reciprocate her feelings. That was the first time someone loved her like this and she really liked that. Another kiss then came up, this time it was the faerie who initiated it. It was still gentle but this one was a little longer than the first one. The ancient hero wanted this moment to never end.

It was truly a perfect moment...them kissing under the stars, on this bridge, over the small pound...

And now Elder Faerie knew, her lips were sweet and almost tasted like honey.

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Recently extinct species make me sad for all the usual and normal reasons (loss of life, biodiversity and unique life forms that experienced the world wholly uniquely and acted in it like no other, to name three), but a big thing that also makes me so sad is the forgetting that comes right after. Many endangered species are greatly ignored to begin with whilst alive of course, which is awful, but the way that extinction also causes us to forget. A species could’ve been so abundant a hundred years ago, people would’ve used a fish species or a tasty plant for food, or parents would’ve warned their children to not put a poisonous toadstool or insect in their mouth, a diver would exclaim, “Aha!” after emerging from the shallows holding an especially big bivalve, or someone making a species diary would sketch out a local bird or fasten a single flower to the page. But.. then the species goes extinct. It doesn’t exist anymore. None of these events, these actions happen anymore. Not with these species. The people who had these experiences dwindle out and they may not even realise that their experiences were among the last of their kind. And we forget.

[natjennie]

I already know I'm gonna be obsessed with falin's subversive version of haunting the narrative. as soon as I figure out what she has going on, I'm gonna be insane about it.

[ganondoodle]

got visually spoiled on the literally last thing i was still actively missing and working towards in totk but i dont think im gonna like it anyway ...

if it is what i think it is, and what it looks like to be, its just yet another nail in the coffin (or however you say that) as to why the lore sucks in this game even tho it had such good setup and so much potential

[velvetjune]

Spoilers for Alan Wake/Control games and DLCs: one of the things I really like in Alan Wake 2 is the confirmation that, no, Alan can’t create something out of nothing. There were implications in-story that supported that, but it was good to have that be a big part in the sequel. The AWE control dlc easily made it seem like Alan himself had a role in the events of the game and the formation of the FBC, and, personally, seeing it through that lens cheapened a lot of the game and Jesse’s story. Instead, having his writing influence the Hiss and try to manipulate (even out of desperation) Jesse/the FBC to end Hartman and get help, fit right into plot and conflicts of Alan Wake 2, with Alan being sympathetic, but also an asshole for trying to change and control people’s lives in his writing.

[lurkiestvoid]

HILL HOUSE CLAN COMMUNITY CATS UPDATES: it's not going great :(

The Okay News:

ANOTHER new orange cat we haven't seen before!! Again!! and this boy is HUGE and built like a BOULDER and I'm calling him Ahnold.

I couldn't get a good pic but his jowls are omg so big. Unlike Old Man (paler, scruffier, not bulky) and Shorttail (short tail, dangly belly pooch, not bulky) His LEGS and TAIL and SHOULDERS are SO CHONKY he's like an old lil bodybuilder. And he hoovered up huge mouthfuls of kibble at a time like a backhoe.

The Bad News:

- Old Man has not been seen, that we know of, for roughly a week or two. This is sometimes normal, we go periods without seeing some of them and then they turn up, but with his Apparent Age and the predators we can't help but worry.

- Buddy has been mauled. We don't know when and we're not fully sure which cat.

- He has a weeping, deep puncture wound on his flank right by his tail, looks like teeth. Big chunk of fur missing.

- His poor face :( his nose is all scratched up and he has a big gash under his right eye, which he's mostly holding closed.

- He has become much more skittish and (imo) seems to have lost weight.

- the second he saw this guy eating he BOLTED. This is entirely unlike him, he's usually somewhat cautious and very quick to just Submit, and just keeps his distance until it's his turn, but this time he was scared.

- We haven't seen him much the last day or two outside of this, so we don't know if he's reacting to all the other kitties like this, or just Ahnold. He did freeze and tense when he saw Shorttail (unusual) but didn't bolt like with Ahnold.

- we think possibly this newcomer is the one who hurt him, but Ahnold very much looks Not New to the Streets. We're not sure where he came from nor when, but he likely wasn't recently dumped like some of the others.

- I'm gonna try and get pictures of both Buddy and Ahnold tomorrow in the daylight, if I see them.

- We don't know what to do, and we DEFINITELY do not have the funds to get Buddy any kind of help. we can barely afford to just feed them all and the neighbors aren't really interested so far in helping, though a couple others have also been leaving out food.

The ???? news:

- The cats aren't eating as much and haven't been coming around as much, and we don't know why.

- Maybe they've got lots more folks feeding them now? But several of them look like they've lost weight this week, including Buddy before he was attacked.

- Normally we fill the tray in the morning and it's gone by nightfall, which worked out to cut down on raccoons and mice; now they maybe eat only half the tray? And the raccoons finish it off (and dirty up the water washing it lol) after midnight.

- ????

- The plan was to get them used to Morning Feedings and to hopefully gather them more often this way, to better identify/count them and start figuring out how to get them help. Something has disrupted this and we don't know what

- We don't think Ahnold is keeping the other cats away from the food since we only saw him for the first time this evening, but we can't be 100% sure and we're not outside all the time.

- ????????????????????????? it's free fuckin food where did everybody go

[unproduciblesmackdown]

oh hooray that this was reuploaded by the videographer