Welcome to the Gallery

FrozenWings on Ao3 She/Her Once a hyperfixation finds its way in here, it never leaves.

[frozenwolftemplar]

New icon image! (couldn’t resist this pic of centaur!Little Cass)

Drawn by the incredibly talented @emkinilly and used with her permission (thank you so much!)

[fakelawyerbug]

Why is making up a title so ass

(Options for the haircut story I'm currently working on are:

An Elegy To Old, Unhappy, Half-burned Things

vs.

to the phoenix before the dawn)

Meanwhile stories I'm only in the drafting stages already have their names that are probably going to stick.

(Black Mercy AU is Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach;

Rumi accidentally hurting Celine is How Sharper Than A Serpant's Tooth)

[frozenwolftemplar]

For someone who (rightly) says making up a title is ass, these are inspired!

Meanwhile, what am I doing?

Nouns. If not a noun, a cliche. Inspired stuff :/

[asiomiq]

with teeth

[secondtolastrow]

Blood cult au part seventeen (first, most recent, masterpost)

Currently: the gang are hiding out at Miyeong’s apartment, and had a party where Minji and Miyeong finally kissed! …And Rumi finally made it clear to everyone that she’s homophobic. I’m sure they’ll all get a great night’s sleep!

Rumi cannot quite breathe, at the honored shaman’s implication.

“That—that varied,” she manages. Because the implication, however tempting it is to fall into, is wrong.

(And it does not matter if Eunjae’s husband was unfailingly kind, respectful, and polite to his mother, while tormenting his wife for the crime of having been born female.

It does not matter if Hana’s family had treated her as worth less than ashes, while her stepbrother was a beloved legacy in the making.

It does not matter if Kyungja’s husband had never laid a finger on her, for all the viciousness of his words, but had brutalized their children.)

“But usually?” the honored shaman asks, refusing the half-answer, insisting upon the one she seeks.

“…Equally wretched,” she admits. “That does not change—“

“You have seen an example of love, and you have refused to see it,” the honored shaman says harshly.

Rumi falls silent.

(She remembers, almost against her will, a humid summer day, walking along the road with Jinu, not long after they first met. The mudang they were coming to visit had stepped out of her home and into the garden, shading her face against the sun, and then she had seen them.

And she had smiled so widely as she stepped forward, taking her hand from her face to wave at them, not minding at all the way her sleeve slid down and exposed the long line of her arm.

Rumi’s heart had jumped in her chest and something hot sparked in her stomach—just as Jinu’s fingers, idly strumming his bīpa, had jumped, playing a wrong note.

Rumi had known, then, looking over at Jinu and the soft blush staining his cheeks, exactly what she was feeling, because it was what he was feeling, and she knew the name for that. And the sunlight had gone cold as she did.)

This. This thing in her has always been ugly and dangerous and they tell her—

(You sound remarkably like the parents that come to the ER sometimes. The ones that are trying to make the fact they beat their kid half to death reasonable.)

“I had not meant,” she says very carefully, “to cause distress. To… act with hatred.” (She cannot call herself a bigot. She will not lie.) “I will sleep elsewhere for the night, if it would make you feel safer.”

She does not believe everything that they have been saying. It is too simple. Too sweet.

But she knows that she must consider it, and that there will be no changing of minds done tonight.

Mira laughs, choked and bitter.

“Wha—Rumi, that’s—“ Zoey starts, and then she does not say anything more.

The honored shaman pinches the bridge of her nose, as if Rumi is somehow being unreasonable.

The talismans that they have applied against the wraiths will still function just as well if Rumi sleeps in the hall outside the door, and perhaps even on the roof.

Mira says something in the same language from before, her tone cutting. Rumi only catches Miyeong-nim and Minji-nim’s names.

The honored shaman hesitates, glancing towards where they’d disappeared, before speaking, thankfully in Korean. “No, I will be fine sleeping as I have been, thank you.”

Well then. Rumi bows. “Would you like me to help clean up before I go?”

“As I have been,” the honored shaman repeats, her voice perhaps softening in such a manner that Rumi wonders if—

She is not, in fact, unforgivable in her transgressions.

[the-fallen-blue]

Someone in a neighboring building has put string lights on their balcony, and the color slips through the window of Miyeong's guest room-slash-office, painting the ceiling above the air mattress in glowing blue and purple. Mira had made some kind of joke about mood lighting, the first night, and they'd agreed to keep the curtains open, liking the effect.

Tonight, staring up at it, Zoey thinks it makes the plaster look bruised.

The little Adderall bujeok Celine made for her rolls in her fingers, over and over, thumb tracing the faint ridge around the outside edge, flip, tighten the string in the little borehole, flip, an anxious tic that Zoey wants to stop, she's done very well so far at smothering any overt stimming while actively in bed with Mira, she remembers how irritating it was to try to get any homework done over lunch when Joy wouldn't stop bouncing her leg, will not be the person who keeps Mira awake with her neurosis, but—

Flip. Thumb along the edge. Flip. Tighten.

A sliver of yellow flickers into being, under the edge of the door. The bathroom light. Celine must have turned it on; Rumi wouldn't have done it herself, she's still pretending she's not afraid of the dark, or at least that the rest of them haven't noticed.

"Do you think…" English, she realizes, and half-caught in her throat. Mira is fine at the language but obviously less comfortable with it than Zoey is with Korean. A coarse cough to clear the drunken knot from her vocal cords, and Zoey switches over. "Do you think they're okay out there?"

"… I think Celine is an adult. I offered to let her sleep with us, she knows Minji and Miyeong would take her, she knows she could kick Rumi out. If she stayed it's because she can handle it."

She sounds like she at least half believes it, which Zoey supposes is better than nothing.

"... and Rumi?"

"I don't think I care if Rumi's okay."

She's not really even pretending she actually believes that, so Zoey doesn't argue. She gets it. She doesn't want to care either.

Flip. Thumb along the edge.

"Could we, maybe." Celine absolutely could have slept in here with them, Mira leaves easily a whole human body of space between them every night. Zoey wakes up most mornings with a stray pillow or the entire bunched-up comforter dividing the mattress, kicked off by Mira who is ice cold falling asleep and then turns to a furnace within thirty seconds of hitting REM. And Zoey has been respecting that boundary like her life depends on it, but— "Would it be okay if…. do you mind…"

Mira reaches out, a gentle, steady hand landing solid on Zoey's shoulder, warm through her oversized Great Barrier Reef shirt. "What do you need, Zo?"

Minji called a woman who could cut her in half a bigot, Celine swallowed a shattered quarter century of hero worship and her own identity on the line and calmly found the truth. Zoey can be brave about this.

"Can you, can we hug? For a bit?"

In the dark, under the shadowy bruise-light, Mira looks somehow relieved. "Yeah. Yeah, we can do that."

And she wraps Zoey in her arms, and Zoey tucks her head under Mira's chin and clutches the bujeok to her sternum with one hand and tightens the other around Mira's hip, and if she sniffles, a bit, Mira is kind enough not to mention it.

[secondtolastrow]

(CW: Rumi’s internalized homophobia continues to be of the queer = predatory sort, including her having thoughts about assaulting zoemira, further brief mentions of historical csa)

As ever, Rumi does not sleep easily.

The honored shaman takes the time to turn on the bathroom light before she lies down, and Rumi wonders if it is deluding herself to think of it as a kindness towards her. Perhaps it is merely a performance of Miyeong-nim’s rules.

They stay on their separate edges of the bed, as ever. Rumi keeps her face turned towards the light, demanding nothing of the honored shaman, and hopes that this does not appear to act like disgust.

Rumi has had thoughts. Idly. Of getting out of bed and going down the hall. Of opening the door. Of Mira and Zoey looking up at her from the bed that they shared and—

They end there, usually. She is good at ending them there. Because she remembers the honored shaman looking at her outside of the convenience store, when Rumi had torn her lustful gaze from Mira’s bare legs, and knowing what she had seen.

And so Rumi could not go down the hall, because if she got up, the honored shaman would see, and she would know what she was seeing.

Except, now, the honored shaman tells her, You have seen an example of love, and you have refused to see it.

She might not let Rumi go down the hall anymore, but she would’ve.

Rumi thinks of dark-eyed Ilseong, mumbling to her that first quiet confession. They told me I was supposed to like it. They told me—

You have seen an example of love.

So much better for the world to stay in neat tidy boxes than for a boy to dream of marrying a boy and then go and chase frogs at the creek.

Ilseong left the namsadang. He stayed, the only person for leagues who could convince the Shims’ goat to let him close.

Many other boys did not.

Rumi could’ve gotten up and gone down the hall and Zoey would’ve smiled at her and kissed her and Mira would’ve—

Would she have minded Rumi’s monstrosity then? When it turned onto her? When she was reminded how much stronger Rumi was? When Rumi whispered, I want you to like this, because she did, she did, she does—

Rumi does not want to take, and it is so stupidly tempting to think that she could be gentle.

But they would not want her now, if they ever had. And the honored shaman would—

(She misunderstood before.)

“Mudang-nim?” she asks, impulsively, before she can even think to stop herself.

Maybe the honored shaman did not hear. Maybe she is yet asleep.

Her breathing pauses for a long moment. Then she lets it out, a quick puff of air. “…Yes?”

Rumi closes her eyes, regretful.

The words tangle on her tongue, sounding ridiculous and awful and overdramatic, sounding so shameful and disgusting and wretched, and she wants, so badly, to be promised—

“Never mind,” she says. “I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

The light still burns against the insides of her eyelids, soft and warm.

[the-fallen-blue]

Rumi wakes to the sound of the honored shaman stretching, as she pulls herself out of bed; they tighten the sheets, fold the comforter, maneuver the frame back into the couch, in the dim silence of the morning.

None of this is unusual, but there is an uncomfortable tension to the quiet that has never been there, before. The honored shaman makes coffee, and does not speak. Rumi pulls on her clothing, and does not speak. The honored shaman takes a shower— as ever, done in minutes, faster than anyone else in the apartment— and does not speak when she returns, and this, the extended, deliberate silence, is unusual indeed.

The others wake slowly, trickling into the kitchen and sitting room. Rumi places herself in a corner, and watches as the morning unfolds around her as though she were not there. They all glance at her as they come for their coffee or tea— Mira, Minji-nim, Miyeong-nim, Zoey— and Rumi remains still, and quiet, and they accept her silence, and the space around her becomes a strange bubble that they do not acknowledge and will not pass.

They will need to discuss strategy, create a plan, engage the servant of the cult before more wraiths can be created, but Rumi cannot lead, like this, and she cannot begin to imagine how to fix it.

You have refused to see.

Rumi watches as Miyeong-nim crowds into the honored shaman's space, to help her with breakfast, as she has always done, and the honored shaman does not flinch or stiffen, but bears it with a fond smile, as she has always done. She watches as Zoey drapes herself over Minji-nim's back and shoulder to steal a peice of fruit from her plate, and Minji-nim tugs Zoey's hair in absent retaliation, neither at all concerned by the other's touch.

But of course, Kyungja's husband was always kind to Kyungja—

Yet Minji-nim and Miyeong-nim, too, are just as they have always been. It is possible that Miyeong-nim touches Minji-nim more frequently, this morning, finds more excuses to brush a hand across an arm when exchanging dishes or bump her weight against her when they pass, but if so, it is a change only in frequency, not in kind, and they both act as if it is fine, even welcomed, just as they always have.

Or perhaps they are not fine, and it has never been fine, and Rumi is simply an even poorer judge of others' behavior than she believed. Because everyone else in the apartment has cycled through the kitchen, the sitting room, the shower, through the course of the morning. But the honored shaman has not left Rumi's line of sight, and Rumi thinks nothing of it, until Miyeong-nim steps so far into the other woman's space that she is forced to back up, and complains, exasperated,

"How are you and Minji the same goddamn person. Take a break."

The honored shaman blinks down in confused alarm. "Miyeong—"

"No. Do not 'Miyeong' me, we're not doing that." Her eyes flash over to Rumi, and Rumi startles at the sensation of being fully acknowledged, without a hint of anger or pain or discomfort, for the first time since Mira woke up. "Rumi, are you planning on starting a fight this morning?"

"I… no, Miyeong-nim, I have no such intention."

"Yeah? Good. I'm not going to either. Minji? Mira? Zoey?"

They all look at Rumi, and Rumi, like a coward, looks down at her feet.

They must make some gesture of agreement, though, because Miyeong-nim makes a satisfied sound, and tells the honored shaman, "See? Crisis over, everyone's behaving themselves. Go cry on the balcony for twenty minutes or go in my room and lock the door and take a nap or walk down the block and bum a cigarette off old man Kwon, I don't care, just take a fucking break."

The honored shaman simply continues to stare down at Miyeong-nim with a bewildered expression for another few heartbeats, and Miyeong-nim pokes her directly in the sternum. "Celine. Now."

One last beat, and the honored shaman looks around the room, as if to verify for herself that she is not immediately required. Then she takes one more step back to give herself space to bow. "As you command, sajangnim," and she's not facing Rumi, but it sounds like there's a grin in it. "I will go to the roof, for a while. Do not hesitate to call for me if I am needed," and she directs that, Rumi thinks, at Zoey, perhaps not trusting Miyeong-nim's evaluation of need. (Rumi is trying not to have opinions on any of her companions, right now, but from what she has learned of Miyeong-nim through all this, she cannot disagree).

And then the honored shaman is gone, and Rumi is alone with four people who she has angered quite deeply, and she hopes, very much, that none of them were lying when they said they weren't looking for a fight.

[secondtolastrow]

Minji’s narrative of the night before takes a sharp left turn as she watches Miyeong herd Celine out of the apartment: Idiot! She was supposed to be getting them together.

And, knowing Miyeong, she would refuse to listen to any arguments about how perfect she and Celine clearly are for each other, or about Celine’s comparable stability.

And, knowing Celine—or, really, just having any grasp of the stupid love triangle narratives she’s seen on television—there is no way that she would accept an attempt by Minji to step aside.

Again, she returns to: Idiot!

…Reasonably, Minji supposes, sipping her coffee, the actual answer is to bring this alternate possibility up to Miyeong during any upcoming what-are-we conversations, and make it clear to her that Minji has no issue with Celine being a far more ideal prospect than herself. Miyeong deserves nothing but the best, and the caring, gorgeous, ridiculous woman she’s just kicked out is exactly that.

At least that will be less of a mess than… Rumi.

As if hearing her thoughts, Mira pushes a plate at Zoey and points her jaw roughly towards the particular corner where Rumi has sat watching them all morning.

Minji worries the scab on her tongue, considering.

She should apologize, probably. She went too far in the face of what was clearly learned ignorance. But she’s not going to do that without some sign that Rumi actually regrets what she said.

(Minji always does. She isn’t good at judging the line. Another good reason to push Miyeong towards Celine instead. She deserves someone she can trust wholeheartedly.)

Zoey takes up the plate, walking over to Rumi with an uncertain expression rather than one of her usual smiles. “I, uh, I have food. For you. To eat. If you want it!”

“Thank you,” Rumi says, standing to make an exceedingly low bow before she accepts the plate in both hands.

Minji exchanges a glance with Miyeong. Apparently, her trust in Celine was not misplaced—however inappropriate it was for her to tell Celine that it was her job to handle things, especially knowing how much responsibility she already takes for everything around her.

(Drunk Minji, you idiot!)

[frozenwolftemplar]

Celine steps on the roof and is greeted by the magpie spirit, looking very pleased with herself.

Spirits deserve our utmost respect. Her mentor's words repeat themselves in her head as she walks stiffly across the cement, a cordial smile plastered on her face. The blessing of their presence outweighs any small inconvenience.

Of course, her mentor said that as she cleaned up after a spirit that had a tendency to knock over flower pots then fixate on righting them (or at least trying to). As far as Celine knew she had never encountered a magpie who delighted in humiliating people before proposing games that brought their worst tendencies to light.

Pity she wasn't still here; she had some questions about loopholes.

"Honorable Kkachi-ssi." Celine bowed as deep as duty demanded (even though her sense of righteousness balked several centimeters too soon). "To what do I owe the-" ("Respect, Celine; humility is a virtue") "-pleasure of your company this fine morning?"

The spirit ruffled her feathers. Liar. It is not a fine morning.

True. The air is heavy and charged, with a damp tang that promised later rain. When she tips her head skyward, thick rolls of clouds, not black but on their way to it, obscure the bright and cheerful blue of yesterday's sky that had smiled down on her and Minji as they wandered around the neighborhood. A sky that knew anguish; a sky that felt the worst was yet to come.

She frowns. Hopefully that isn't a portent.

When she turns back to Kkachi-ssi, though, she keeps the smile in place. "It is your presence that makes the morning fine."

Kkachi-ssi must know she is far from Celine's favorite spirit at the moment, but she preens anyway, more than happy to accept any compliment and, quite honestly, probably feeling it is the truth (since spirits were not part of the Order and, thus, not concerned with adherence to virtues).

I thank you for the fine party last night, she croaks, smirking as she settles on the edge of an air intake vent. It was a good one.

Yes, Celine thinks grimly. Nothing marks a party a success like revealing someone's homophobic tendencies.

"I am glad you enjoyed it," Celine dips her head. That makes one of them. "Now, if you'll please excuse me:" She starts to turn towards the half-wall bordering the roof. The uncomfortable knot that had been lodged in her chest since last night has only grown tighter with the morning, particularly the sight of Rumi-nim sitting dejected and alone in the self-imposed isolation of the corner, combined with the cool demeanors of Zoey and especially Mira, and she desperately needs to be alone to try and unravel it.

(there's a second knot, one that has her own name wound through it along with the realization of how Rumi-nim would view her if she knew, but that is unimportant)

Leaning on the half-wall, she draws a deep breath of the city air, scents of asphalt and exhaust tangling with the myriad songs of human habitation and life, engines and air conditioners and a car alarm blaring in the distance.

It's not very calming; they vibrate the air so her calming breath jangles unmusically in her nerves, amplifying the discontent rather than allaying it.

She misses the countryside.

Even more, she misses yesterday morning, when dynamics were relatively simple and their biggest concerns were Miyeong's trust issues and the aftermath of Rumi and Mira's excursion to retrieve the latter's family's books.

There's a rustling of feathers and Kkachi-ssi alights next to her. Wonderful.

This would have come out eventually, she croaks, shooting Celine a very judgmental look. Surely you know that.

She supposes the spirit is right; it would have; the disgust on Rumi-nim's face, and the vehemence of her justification of it, were too intense and deep to have ever stayed hidden. This reveal was inevitable.

And…she also supposes that she should have perhaps seen this coming. Even if that part of Rumi-nim's story- the poor abused theater boys- had not been passed down there was probably documentation of it elsewhere, and part of her order was being a bit of a scholar of the era. Should have pulled her aside and explained- as gently as she could- that two women- or two men for that matter- could show their love for each other and have it be as real and right and good as any display between a man and a woman. If not erased that vestige of her era then at least softened the edges so no one would be cut too deeply.

Guilt cinches the knot tighter. Another way she has failed.

There's a sharp burst of pain on her hand and she just barely swallows a very undignified yelp as the spirit pecks her.

Yes, definitely not among her favorite spirits.

All six of the spirit's eyes are narrowed impatiently. You are not so important that all the world's miseries come back to you. Or even all your companions.'

Her mentor also said to not argue with a spirit, so Celine keeps her opinions on that remark to herself.

Besides, Kkachi-ssi continues. You'll have enough trouble today without borrowing more.

Celine thinks she means cleaning up the interpersonal fallout back in Miyeong's apartment, but the magpie spirit instead wings off towards the northern part of the city. To her eyes, it does not look any different from the rest of the surrounding neighborhoods.

Her soul tells a different story.

[art-the-f-up]

Not letting you guys forget that Marinette is a Guardian who can lose her memories at any time

[caffedorzo]

spin the wheel to be assigned a mysterious source of income - who will grant you 10k usd every month without fail!!

will you take the money?

yes

no

bald / nuance

Remaining time: 3 days 21 hours

[orcboxer]

I mean. Okay

[waterfire1848]

I do like the de aged Celine stories were Huntrix realizes that Celine is neurodivergent cause adult Celine is great at masking. I find it a cute way for her and Zoey to bond.

Hi anon!!!

I’d like to imagine that Zoey has the most knowledge on neurodivergence from growing up in the States/Burbank. She not only learned a little in school but she was also just around more people who probably outwardly admitted to being neurodivergent. Meanwhile, Mira and Rumi certainly know neurodivergence exists but they just don’t have the same experiences as Zoey stemming from a more isolated upbringing.

So when Celine has trouble with certain materials, struggles to look people in the eye or struggles with paying attention, Zoey is quick to pick up on what it means and adjust herself. Mira and Rumi would need to be told but they eventually figure it out.

Rumi: Celine? Celine, you need to put on a coat. It’s cold out. We don’t want you to get sick or be chilly.

Celine:….

Rumi: I’m going to count to 3. 1….2….

Celine: Hurts.

Mira: The coat hurts?

Celine: *Nods*

Zoey: OH!

Mira: Yes?

Zoey: Wait, Celine, does the fabric feel bad? Like when it touches your skin do you feel icky?

Celine: Icky?

Zoey: I mean….do you feel like you have ants crawling up you or shiver or want out of it as fast as possible?

Celine: Mmhmm.

Zoey: Ah, okay. Well, Rumi was right about you needing a coat outside, we don’t want you to be cold, so why don’t we look at some other coats for you to wear, okay? We can try to find one with cats on it. Like the ones you drew from France.

Celine: *Nods* Okay.

[polytrixaf]

dont forget that YOU 🫵 are the backbone of this fandom. oh but im not a- DONT CARE. write a bad fic, draw that silly art, make that tumblr post with your headcannon. oh but i have nothing to share- DONT CARE. kudos that fic, write a nice comment, gush in the tags of a reblog.

YOU 🫵 ARE CREATING A FANDOM SPACE BY EXISTING AROUND AND ENCOURAGING CONTENT CREATION

what YOU 🫵 say has impact. make it a good one.

[nnalyart]

[commission] Forbidden Archives by Nnalyart

Commission for Honly's fimfiction

https://www.fimfiction.net/story/585817/a-lesson-in-hindsight

[ivytea]

requiem for vanished birdsong

[librarycards]

wait everyone. what if i watched a movie

[librarycards]

theers a lot o f them im scared

[digitalkiddo]

If you're writing anything involving cons, scams, heists, or morally questionable characters who are very good at lying, here are some free resources I've been using for research. Saving you the "why is this in my search history" anxiety.

1. The FBI's Famous Cases & Criminals archive (fbi.gov/history/famous-cases) has detailed breakdowns of real fraud cases, Ponzi schemes, and confidence operations. The language they use is clinical and precise, which is perfect for getting the procedural details right.

2. The FTC Consumer Sentinel Network publishes annual reports on the most common fraud tactics in the US. Great for understanding how modern scams actually work and what makes people fall for them.

3. The Smithsonian's American Art Museum has a free digital collection of forgery case studies. If your character forges documents or art, this is gold.

4. Court Listener (courtlistener.com) is a free legal database where you can read actual court transcripts from fraud trials. Want to know how a real con artist talks under oath? This is where you find out.

5. The Internet Archive's collection of old newspaper crime sections. Search for "confidence man" or "swindle" in papers from the 1920s through 1960s and you'll find incredible real stories that would feel too dramatic for fiction.

Bonus: The Psychology of Fraud section on the Association for Psychological Science website has accessible articles about why people trust, how deception works cognitively, and what makes someone a convincing liar. Essential reading if you want your con artist characters to feel psychologically real.

Reblog to save for later. Your WIP will thank you.

[taiigane]

Eepy girlfriends 💜🩷

[valtsv]

truly one of the most upsetting things to hear in pretty much any context is "i'm used to it"

[valtsv]

let's hear some flat affected cheers and listless applause from the anhedonic crowd

[art-the-f-up]

Not letting you guys forget that Marinette is a Guardian who can lose her memories at any time

[sockiepuppetry]

Ok

[subtletwilighteternity]

HEY

look at these cool gifs of my fav movie