black-haired, blue-eyed enthusiast

pfp credit: @EsterEggz on Twitter

[bees-with-swords]

"Do you ever dream of land?" The whale asks the tuna.

"No." Says the tuna, "Do you?"

"I have never seen it." Says the whale, "but deep in my body, I remember it."

"Why do you care," says the tuna, "if you will never see it."

"There are bones in my body built to walk through the forests and the mountains." Says the whale.

"They will disappear." Says the tuna, "one day, your body will forget the forests and the mountains."

"Maybe I don't want to forget," Says the whale, "The forests were once my home."

"I have seen the forests." Whispers the salmon, almost to itself.

"Tell me what you have seen," says the whale.

"The forests spawned me." Says the salmon. "They sent me to the ocean to grow. When I am fat with the bounty of the ocean, I will bring it home."

"Why would the forests seek the bounty of the oceans?" Asks the whale. "They have bounty of their own."

"You forget," says the salmon, "That the oceans were once their home."

[hearnoweevil]

Last year I finally had an excuse to illustrate this simple little Tumblr story I've had bookmarked forever for class.

I hope you like it :]

[bungcar]

[deareadersmanuscript-deactivate]

This is the cutest and you will not convince me otherwise.

[velinxi]

My artwork for the Legend of Korra concert!

[writing-prompt-s]

You, the queen of a fairy tale kingdom, got cursed to give birth to a princess who’s going to live her life isolated in a tower the first 20 years of her life. Narrate how you avoid your daughter’s fate.

[elidyce]

She laughed, when she placed the curse on me. Laughed and laughed. She called me a fool for coming to her, for wanting children who would sap my strength and steal my power. 

One child to take my kingdom, she promised me. Well, I’d wanted an heir. It didn’t have to be a curse. 

One child the sea would steal. There was room in that. They didn’t have to die, only to love the sea. I would buy the finest ships. 

And the third would suffer my grandmother’s fate. 

The tower. 

Grandmother told me stories about that tower, shuddering. About the isolation almost driving her mad. About the desperate longing for escape. I know what that escape cost her, and my grandfather as well, with his scarred face and limping gait. 

That was going to be difficult. 

The sorceress’s curse worked. Within the year, I held my first babe in my arms, a sturdy boy who kicked and cried and cuddled against his mother as if he hadn’t been made only to bring me grief. Well, all mothers grieve. 

Keep reading

[ingridverse]

The sorceress’ mistake was in casting the same curse as was on the Queen’s grandmother. You think she didn’t spend her life thinking “If only grandmama has done this, had tried that,” nibbling away at the words like a mouse at a rope, until it gives way? The sorceress barely thought about that curse; she copied and pasted. The Queen had received that very rare and special gift; a lifetime of if-onlies that actually paid off

[evercelle]

orv bookmark draws, pt. 7: the ending you deserve - chps 514 kdj + od, 515 sp + od

[parts 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6]

[voidcenturyscholar-deactivated2]

Fire Lord Zuko passing a law that forbids challenging anyone under the age of majority to Agni Kai

Fire Lord Zuko waiting until the day he reaches the age of majority to pass this law, lest anyone think he is a coward

(No one. Literally no one would have thought that, but it’s generally regarded as a very classy move regardless)

[constallayetions]

Wait but also, until then, if anyone under the age of majority is challenged

Zuko fights it for them.

Which, especially in more rural towns (where Agni Kais are less of a public event and more of a fast and violent duel) is terrifying because you challenge your neighbor’s kid over a stolen chicken-fish and all of a sudden the Fire Lord is showing up???

But, those few who still challenge those who should be kids learn quickly to regret it.

[grayblebayble]

Okay but this implies that Zuko knows whenever someone challenges a kid to an Agni Kai and is there before the battle takes place.

Firelord Zuko: *wakes up in a cold sweat near midnight*

Firelord Zuko: *running down the palace hallways while still struggling to put in his pants, being chased by his team of bodyguards* I’M GOING TO HING WA ISLAND TO KICK SOMEBODY’S ASS SEE YOU IN A WEEK BITCHES

[enbyzukostanblog]

Random spirit: Why’d you do that to him? Isn’t it kind of a stretch for a mortal to be blessed like that?

Agni himself: I felt like it

[overlordofbisexuals]

@dead-fandom-society @evilkitten3

[yankee-doodle-danger]

how dare you leave this gold in the notes

[docholligay]

I think fandom analysis on the whole would be a lot more fun and interesting if it took the sort of attitude a great many of my lit professors did, and the idea was to look at the text, see what you think it's saying, or even COULD be saying, and let's fuck around with that idea. I got four years of hearing insane takes on stuff and I was extremely fortunate to go a school with small enough class sizes and a dedicated enough faculty that in many respects, wild theorizing was encouraged.

One of my professors was straight up like "I don't want you reading papers about this book until we finish it!" and we had writing things for the first 20 minutes of every class because he wanted to know what WE thought, not what we had become convinced was THE thing to think.

When I was in my second year of college, I spiraled out into this whole "Jane Eyre is a lesbian!" thing, and my professor (not the same guy as above but delightfully insane in her own right) was like, "Wow, I've never heard this from anyone," and instead of being like, "um this is not what has been agreed upon by everyone else" went "Tell me more." Now, as a forty year old woman who has never stopped engaging with stories on both an enjoyment and academic level, the paper I would write with age and distance would be more "Homosociality, desire, and the domesticated male in Jane Eyre" or something like that, nineteen year old me was a little reductive and simple, but same vibes.

But my professor did not think I was right, she thought I was being INTERESTING, and so she encouraged me and championed me to write that paper and I actually presented it at the student division of a conference! The cool thing about that was, that when I was defending it, I was having to think about it, but it was in the spirit of collaboration, it felt like. No one was trying to 'win' the conversation.

Doc, what the fuck are you--I saw a really interesting thing this morning, someone talking about Shrek, of all things, and how they thought it was about how you cannot turn an ogre into a man, but he can make you become an ogre. And I immediately went, "Wow! Okay, interesting, not how I read that at all, TELL ME MORE." It was really jarring for me, then, to see pretty much every comment be like, 'uh you are wrong and also stupid." Sure, maybe that's not the intention of the work, but I don't for one goddamn motherfucking second think Charlie Bronte was sitting down going "I am going to write a woman so gay..." nor do I think the read of her as same sex-attracted is the end all be all of interpretations. It's mine, for sure! But like...talking about stories is supposed to be fun and it's supposed to be about possibility.

That one post got me thinking about how we are, in fandom often all looking at this same text, and there's immense pressure to have a 'right' interpretation--I was at the nexus of so many Sailor Moon fandom wars, and while I got into a few tussles, I was also stupid to do that. This characters are not real, and I was shutting down POSSIBILITY. And even after I was like, 'Wow, I don't think this is actually a very fun way to do stuff" it turns out you can't magically give everyone the same revelation you have simultaneously. Which is upsetting. And I see these same patterns repeat over and over and over again.

In my old age, I'm less interested in he "He would not say that" and more interested in "Cool, tell me why he would say that?"

Don't misunderstand me, there are points of view and ideas on different texts where I'm like, "Hm. I don't care to engage with that." Remember that the window we're looking out of is as important as what we're looking at, and will DOUBTLESS change the appearance. But the whole reason we have each other is to try and find other windows! It's not actually to find someone who is the next pane of glass in your same window. I miss that environment, where you could trust that everyone coming to the table was engaging with the same ground rules and that there was an expectation of, detachment doesn't quite get to the heart of what I'm talking about, but we were expected not to take the text or the analysis of it personally, even when it was hard. And sometimes it was. But I think it led to me having--for example it's crazy to me to have one 'right read' on any given text. I had a SUPER FUCKING ANIMATED conversation with a fellow lit nerd about whether or not GdT's Frankenstein was emotionally faithful to the text (which is not the same as being literally faithful nor the same as being good)and it was so fun, EVEN THOUGH we were coming at it completely opposed. But it was so fucking fun.

I wish I could do that with anime and cartoons, but you can't. People take Shrek personally. So I'll never have that same fun.

ANYWAY SORRY I AM DRINKING COFFEE AND MY DAUGHTER ISN'T HERE I HAVE TOO MUCH FREE TIME.

[rhynee]

this is still one of my favorite explanations for gender

[sedimentfootwrap]

This image manifested so clearly in my mind I had to recreate it

[alexseanchai]

[image 1: a tweet by KatysCartoons, whose profile picture is a stick figure whose head is colored in with the trans pride flag. the tweet reads, "Atoms are binary. They are either intended to be hydrogen or helium. We can't just scrap this worldview just because of a handful of exceptions". embedded in the tweet is a pie chart entitled "Types of atom in the universe": seventy-four percent hydrogen, twenty-five percent helium, and, in tiny font, one percent other.]

[image 2: the periodic table of the elements, except that hydrogen and helium are in their own box labeled "Real elements", and elements 3 (lithium) through 118 (oganesson) are labeled "Mental illness".]

.

incidentally this periodic table must've been drawn in the past nine years, since it doesn't deadname oganesson

[persephinae]

[utopians]

man how the hell is this stupid ass sport legal. why do we funnel HIGH SCHOOLERS into this

[utopians]

jesus christ????

[taragrimface]

what the fuck.

[hypokeimena]

#the worst is when a kid fucking dies #and his parents try to raise awareness that your kid could fucking die #but all they get is other parents telling them their kid died because he was bad at football

[mirey017]

^^

[conswayo]

died unknowing

[crimson-chains]

You guys better be prepared for so much TBHX stuff because I just have so many thoughts and feelings XD Nice is just such a tragic person!!

[bajoop-sheeb]

PLEASE for the love of the universe read anti-colonial science fiction and fantasy written from marginalized perspectives. Y’all (you know who you are) are killing me. To see people praise books about empire written exclusively by white women and then turn around and say you don’t know who Octavia Butler is or that you haven’t read any NK Jemisin or that Babel was too heavy-handed just kills me! I’m not saying you HAVE to enjoy specific books but there is such an obvious pattern here

Some of y’all love marginalized stories but you don’t give a fuck about marginalized creators and characters, and it shows. Like damn

[spid3rgrrrl]

If anyone has any recommendations give them to me please!

[bajoop-sheeb]

Gladly! The pieces on this list aren’t limited to specifically anti-colonial science fiction and fantasy, but they do center related and relevant topics, themes, etc.

Anything by NK Jemisin. She is the best speculative fiction writer of her generation and probably the best speculative fiction writer alive. She is easily one of the best writers working right now, across all genres. That’s not hyperbole. She deserves all the hype.

Anything by Octavia Butler. She needs no introduction. Her short fiction is incredible; “Bloodchild” is one of the pieces that inspired me to write.

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon. Excellent. Just read it.

The Radiant Emperor duology by Shelley P. Chan. It broke my heart and it'll break yours.

Babel by RF Kuang. You’ve probably already heard of this book because Harper Voyager marketed the shit out of it and was right to do so. It’s very, very good. Kuang writes a compulsively readable story, that’s for sure.

The Empress of Salt and Fortune by Nghi Vo.

So Long Been Dreaming: Post-Colonial Science Fiction and Fantasy (anthology) edited by Nalo Hopkinson.

Dark Matter: A Century of Speculative Fiction from the African Diaspora (anthology) edited by Nalo Hopkinson.

Severely underhyped books of assorted speculative genres:

The Blood Trials by NE Davenport. Given the current chokehold romantasy has on the public it’s insane to me that this book hasn’t sold a billion copies.

The Vanished Birds by Simon Jimenez. It’ll change you.

The Tiger’s Daughter by K. Arsenault Rivera.

The Lesson by Caldwell Turnbull.

Read widely. Read diversely. People of the Caucasian persuasion need to stop getting pissy when the story doesn’t immediately center them and they don’t automatically relate to everything the character says and does and is. Just let yourself get swept in the story—even if it touches on (gasp!) racism—and maybe, just maybe, it’ll reveal something to you.

Or maybe not! Marginalized sff authors do not have to and should not have to educate their readers. But if I see one more white person complain about how Black characters are fundamentally annoying because they complain too much I’m going to fling myself into the sun

Thanks for coming to my ted talk I didn’t want to do it but here I am

[teeth-and-spackle]

Don't forget Aliette de Bodard! Especially her Xuya and Dominion of the Fallen series.

Zen Cho is my other favorite - Sorcerer to the Crown and The True Queen, and also Black Water Sister.

[coffin-flop]

Octavia's Brood: Science Fiction Stories from Social Justice Movements is a fantastic collection of short scifi stories written by a variety of social justice activists

Brown Girl in the Ring by Nalo Hopkinson is so intricately plotted, I really enjoyed the world building in it, the back of book blurb says "The rich and privileged have fled the city, barricaded it behind roadblocks, and left it to crumble. The inner city has had to rediscover old ways — farming, barter, herb lore. But now the monied need a harvest of bodies, and so they prey upon the helpless of the streets. With nowhere to turn, a young woman must open herself to ancient truths, eternal powers, and the tragic mystery surrounding her mother and grandmother. She must bargain with gods, and give birth to new legends."

Dread Nation by Justina Ireland is a YA alternative historical fiction zombie novel in which the American Civil War is interrupted by a zombie apocalypse, and a young Black woman must find her way in a world where the living may be more dangerous than the undead. (it's the first of a duology)

Everfair by Nisi Shawl is a steampunk alternative history, which explores the question of what might have come of Belgium's disastrous colonization of the Congo if the native populations had adopted steam technology as their own. (also part of a series)

The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline is a great ya dystopian book about a world where people have lost the ability to dream and the dreamlessness has led to widespread madness. The only people still able to dream are North America's Indigenous people, and it is their marrow that holds the cure for the rest of the world. But getting the marrow, and dreams, means death for the unwilling donors.

The Getaway by Lamar Giles is a very intense YA dystopian horror that takes place in the future, in which a teen boy and his family work and live at a Disney-esque resort, which provides safety from the upheaval in the outside world.... until the trouble in the outside world gets worse and the most rich members of the board and up moving in and locking the resort down, leaving the families who live & work on the resort at the mercy of the wealthy board owners who control it.

Not a book and not exactly scifi (although some of the stories are scifi) and not always anti-colonial (but a lot of the stories have anti-colonial themes) , I really love the Nightlight Podcast hosted by Tonia Ransom, which is a podcast of horror stories by Black writers and performed by Black actors

not fiction, but semi-related nonfiction I'd rec is Bodyminds Reimagined: (Dis)ability, Race, and Gender in Black Women's Speculative Fiction by Sami Schalk

[homoqueerjewhobbit]

Throwing in The Kingston Cycle by CL Polk, basically everything I've ever wanted in a fantasy novel. Like if the author had my checklist.

[hattersarts]

my post-movie sleeping beauty au where maleficent survives phillip's blade (barely) and a decade after a now queen aurora goes hunting for the fairy mentioned in her mother's diary to help her and phillip conceive an heir.

aurora binds mal to her and mal begins to act as her advisor and the tension starts uuuuuupppp (they start sleeping together and being little bitches about it)

its a mix of the 1959 film and the original story, the kingdom is frozen in slumber for 100 years rather than immediately revived and there's a few complications that occurred due to aurora having more magic in her than she should have as a human.

[kyazmc]

I need everyone in the world to watch this right now

[fishy-my-wishy]

While we’re on the topic of different Celine’s, I wonder how a Celine where she gets her happy ever after with Miyeong (and maybe thirdlight) and Rumi, would be like if she were to switch places with Main!Celine

something of a perfect au? i guess?

i don’t have the braincells to actually think of any scenarios for this at the moment but maybe later😭

[kenkuheart]

Celine is dreaming. Celine knows she is dreaming, because she can feel another body pressed against hers. The memory of Miyeong's perfume settles around her, and she knows without needing to turn around whose face she will see.

She stays where she is a while longer, letting her dream fill in more elaborate details. The bedsheets, warm against her skin. A hand, toying idly with the hem of her shirt. Breath, against her ear, as Miyeong leans close.

"I know you're faking, lazybones," she says raspily.

"Just enjoying the moment," Celine says. It's been a while since she had a dream as sweet as this.

Miyeong's teeth graze the bottom of her earlobe. A sudden heat pools in Celine's stomach, a half-remembered urge. It's been -- a long time.

Celine turns to capture Miyeong's lips with her own. Then they're kissing - Celine is dreaming that they are kissing, which she knows, because Miyeong has been dead for longer than she was ever alive and Celine never had the courage to do this while it was still possible - and, as embarrassing as it is to know that she's still capable of this sort of dream at her age, it's harmless enough to let her brain continue to play this out.

---

The bed is cold. Celine wakes up with one hand stretched across the covers, reaching for someone who isn't there.

"Honey?" She can't hear anything. Miyeong always likes to put the radio on as soon as she wakes up; her pathological inability to enjoy the quiet is the most longstanding of their arguments.

"Rumi-ya?"

Nothing.

They'll find it silly, she tells herself, even as she hurries through the halls. They'll laugh about Celine running around in a blind panic, just because they were out of sight.

(The air itself feels different, heavy.)

(Rumi's coat is not hanging by the door.)

They aren't inside. Celine pulls on a pair of shoes and carries on searching.

Eventually, her search brings her to the graves.

[fishy-my-wishy]

oh. oh nooooo what have i unleasheddddd😭

Celine takes slow, labored breaths in an attempt to calm herself.

In: 1, 2, 3, 4

Hold: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...9...23...31...67

Too much! Too much hold!!

Celine chokes on her own spit, banging on her chest. Celine never really paid any attention to all of that therapy stuff whenever Mira brought it up. Miyeong (who is currently under--) always smacked her upside the head when she dozed off.

Now, though, as she stares at the... at the graves -- by the Honmoon -- she desperately wishes she had.

This is a dream, a nightmare!

Celine is going to wake up any second now, where she can gasp and whine awake, where Miyeong will only laugh a little before holding and coaxing her back to sleep.

Because there is no world, no universe, where Celine allowed Rumi--

Oh god, Rumi. Where is she? Is she still--

Celine takes another deep breath. Despite not paying any real attention, she knows breathing helps. No use in panicking about a dream.

This is a dream.

***

This is a dream.

And Celine knows it's a dream because there's no other way Miyeong would appear so vividly.

Lucid dreams, if she remembers Zoey's 45-minute presentation about it when she decided she would take a small break from animal fact correctly.

Miyeong is smiling at her from above, if a little confused, and Celine is glued to the bed, eyes wide open.

Her hair is a little mussed from sleep, free from the braid that usually haunts Celine. There are small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Her eyes. So deep that Celine always thought she would drown in them.

She's so beautiful.

Quirking an eyebrow, Miyeong giggles as she brings a hand up to ruffle Celine's hair. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

And Celine blinks once. Twice. She brings her own hand up and...

CHOMP!

"CELINE, WHAT THE HELL?" Miyeong shouts, before she scrambles to get a cloth, a bandage, or something for Celine's now bleeding hand. "Why would you do that?"

Celine watches as the blood slowly pools and drips onto the bedsheet from the bite on her palm.

Oh. Not a dream.

She glances at Miyeong, who is still grumbling about what the fuck is going on with Celine. Who is clearly there. And real. And what the fuck is actually going on what the hell where is she is she dead is this some weird kind of hell because there's no waycelinewouldbeinheavenwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthe--

Celine blacks out.

[kenkuheart]

(don't look at me lmao I just go where the wailing and gnashing of teeth leads me)

When Celine comes to, her hand has been cleaned and wrapped. She presses her thumb into the centre of the bandage and isn't surprised to feel the wound throb in response.

She's even less surprised to feel Miyeong's hand wrap around her wrist.

"Don't hurt yourself, love," Miyeong says, pulling her hand away.

Celine steels herself and looks at her properly, seeing the details she had missed before - the light dusting of grey through her hair, the creases around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. This is who Miyeong should always have been, if only she'd had the chance. If only Celine hadn't failed her.

Tears blur her vision. Celine tries to blink them away, but this feels like an old wound, once scabbed over, has been reopened - a loss almost as raw as it had been 25 years ago.

"Talk to me, please, Celine. You're scaring me."

And oh, it would be so easy to take this comfort for what it is - to close her eyes and allow this false Miyeong to give Celine everything she has known in her rotten heart she would never deserve.

But Celine has never been one to shy from her duty, no matter how difficult.

"Using her face again," she says bitterly. "25 years, and you still don't have any new tricks?"

"What are you talking about? Whose face?"

The Honmoon shimmers. Celine's hand trembles as she reaches for her sword.

---

Just a bad dream, Celine says. Just a bad dream, which means that it will be over soon and Miyeong and the kids will be fine, and she won't even need to tell them about this, because they won't be interested in a silly dream which means nothing.

So. This isn't happening. (Her whole body feels cold.) This is just something her brain is creating, while it sorts through the inventory of all her old faults and fears. (She doesn't know if she can stand.) There's no reason to be upset about something that isn't even real. (Her eyes fall on the name Miyeong again and her whole world falls apart once more.)

She folds her arms across her chest and sags forward, a puppet with its strings cut. (It isn't real, she tells herself. None of this is real.)

The animal howl tears from her throat all the same.

Celine doesn't know how long she stays there, bent in half, shouting her grief to the sky. She only knows it's long enough that it grows dark around her, although that doesn't mean much - her dream-logic may just find that a fitting tribute to Miyeong.

Her brain spits up another image at some point - a young woman, dark hair pulled into two buns either side of her head, shaking her by the shoulder.

"Celine, respectfully, what the hell? Rumi's been calling you for hours- Hang on," the woman says, straightening up and cupping her hands around her mouth so she can shout: "Guys, she's over here!"

Mira is the first to make her way around the corner, followed by Rumi. At least, her dream's version of Rumi, her long hair tied up like Miyeong used to do.

Celine holds out her arms, unable to stop herself from crying, and Rumi --

Rumi doesn't hug her as easily as she always does. She hesitates, pats Celine on the back a little gingerly, like she's not sure what to do with her hands.

"Um, what the fuck," Mira blurts out. "Are you drunk?"

Celine laughs, brokenly. "Just a bad dream," she tells them. She brings one hand round to the back of Rumi's head, trying to pull her closer, and wills herself to stop shaking.

[kenkuheart]

Rumi allows herself to be cradled for a few moments more, but she feels stiff, self-conscious in a way that reminds Celine so much of her teenage self. (Which makes sense, in a dream. Her brain laying memories of Rumi’s face and Miyeong’s hair and 15 year old Rumi’s insistence that her life was over and her mothers were the worst and there was no one in the world who would understand her.)

Celine lets her go - the three girls all stare at her, then have a conversation conducted entirely through facial expression, before the third girl blurts out “Holy shit, are you dying?”

“Zoey!”

The girl with the buns, Zoey, throws her arms up in the air. “I panicked, sorry!”

“You aren’t dying, are you?” Rumi squints suspiciously at her, as if she might be able to tell. Then her eyes move past Celine, noticing where she stands- and even in a dream, Celine can’t bear the thought of her eldest seeing Miyeong’s grave, of thinking that she might have lost her. She reaches out to take Rumi’s hand.

“I don’t plan to, no,” Celine tells her, redirecting Rumi’s attention away. “Maybe we should head inside.”

Rumi, dream Rumi, agrees, and they walk back together without looking back.

The girls talk - Nonsense, mostly. (Her brain, mashing together old memories of idol life and demon hunting, putting them in the mouths of kids who will never have to know the sacrifices the Sunlight Sisters had to make.) Celine humours them - or her own imagination, at least - and responds appropriately.

Inside, Rumi makes tea, setting out one cup for each of them: Mira, Rumi, Zoey, Celine. Then she goes to close the cabinet and Celine raises one eyebrow.

Even though this is just a dream, some responses are so ingrained that Celine doesn’t think, just hears herself say “Don’t forget your brothers.”

Which is when Rumi pulls the cabinet off the wall.

——

Celine reaches out and the threads of the Honmoon reach back to her without coalescing into a weapon. Instead, it skims up her arms casting warm dandelion sparks dancing across her fingertips.

Celine can’t breathe. The Golden Honmoon. Here. The iridescent one the girls created together should have been more than enough. Why would they even try..?

Rumi.

Celine scrambles to her feet, ignoring Miyeong’s cry of surprise. She needs to go-she needs to see Rumi and check with her own two eyes that she’s safe - she needs (if this is not, in fact, a demon) to be the one to break the news. Celine yanks the door open and almost immediately slams into a man.

No, not a man, she realises. He can’t be older than 16, gangly but young-looking and wearing Spider-Man pyjamas.

“Maman, hey, what’s wrong?” The teen is saying to her.

“Maman’s not feeling well,” Miyeong says from behind Celine. “Go on, shoo. I’ve got her.”

He sets his jaw in a move that looks so familiar it hurts. “Rumi’s making breakfast.”

“She’s here?” The rest is making her head hurt - Maman and Spider-Man pyjamas and all - but Rumi. Rumi, she’s looking for Rumi. If she can just see Rumi’s okay then she can breathe again.

Miyeong and the boy look at her like she’s speaking another language.

“… Yeah?”

“Ha-joon, go help your sister.” Miyeong’s hand closes around her upper arm, pulling her back towards the bedroom. Away, she realises with a start, from Rumi. “Maman needs to rest.”

“I need—“ Celine starts to say, before Miyeong cuts her off.

“You need to tell me what’s going on,” Miyeong says firmly. “Are you having an episode? Do we need to make an appointment with Dr. Kim?”

“‘Episode’? I… Miyeong, no,” Celine stumbles. “You’re dead. This isn’t real. None of this is.”

Miyeong looks - for the briefest moment, visible only to someone who has spent a lifetime retreading every shared memory of the two of them- like her heart is breaking.

“I need to see Rumi, I need to see—“

“The kids don’t need to see you like this,” Miyeong says. Her voice is gentle but Celine still recognises the slight wobble. “You’re not making any sense. I’m right here.”

Miyeong takes Celine’s hand and slowly- like she’s trying not to frighten her - brings Celine’s palm to lie flat against Miyeong’s chest.

“Feel that heartbeat, love. Can you feel it?”

Celine nods, slowly.

“Not dead,” Miyeong continues. “I’m right here with you.”

Celine says nothing, focusing only on the steady thump-thump beneath her hand.

[fishy-my-wishy]

This genuinely pulled me out of my writing slump. Also got a lil long. Whoops!

"RUMI!" The three women shout in unison, staring in horror as the dust settles around them. Zoey accidentally inhales some of it and ends up in a coughing fit, beating at her chest while Mira rushes to smack her on the back.

Rumi doesn't acknowledge any of that, instead choosing to stand directly in front of Celine. Or... a demon wearing Celine's face, because this is not Celine. At least the demon isn't evil. Just kind of sad and hysterical. Also really weird. "Brother?" Rumi asks, which is stupid. Because this is a demon. Obviously. Despite the lack of demons over the past couple of months, because they fixed the Honmoon. And Celine would rather die than show this much emotion.

Because this Celine looks like she's about to cry again. Her eyes are sad, her shoulders slumped, and she looks like she's about to clutch at Rumi like a teddy bear. Again.

"W-wait!" Rumi rushes, trying to fix whatever it is she just did. "I'm sorry-"

Demon-Celine waves her off, breathing deeply. She tips her head back and clenches her eyes shut, as if staving off a migraine.

She opens her eyes, still looking up. And then she blinks. Once, twice, before spinning around rapidly, her head moving wildly.

Celine looks...silly. In a way Rumi hasn't seen in--it's been a long time.

"Um, is she good?" Mira asks, raising an eyebrow, still rubbing Zoey's back despite her recovery.

Zoey tilts her head in question. "I would say...no."

Celine lurches back, her hands flailing as if she's trying to convey her words with her arms in some strange interpretive dance. "Th-the HONMOON."

Rumi nods cautiously. "...Yes. That is the Honmmon."

"WHY ISN'T GOLD?"

"Seriously?" Mira snaps, glaring sharply. "You cannot still be on this."

Celine's breathing becomes shallow. She tries to swallow it down, but it just makes it so much worse.

Rumi steps closer, putting a hand on Celine's bicep. "Celine, why don't you go sit dow--"

Celine looks up and sees Rumi, actually sees Rumi, and... oh. A jolt of sheer fear goes through Celine.

"Why do you have patterns?

[kenkuheart]

“…What,” Mira says flatly. “What do you mean, why does she have patterns?”

Celine can barely hear her over her own ragged breathing. It’s been so long since she last saw anything like those lines outside one of her nightmares; when they finally turned the Honmoon golden, they’d been so sure that it meant Rumi would be safe from Gwi-Ma’s influence forever. As soon as Rumi was born, Celine had promised Miyeong that her baby would be safe, and they threw themselves into making sure their comeback would be unforgettable. Four years of albums, concerts, TV appearances and fan meets; four years of taking turns to get up with the baby at night and watch the small yellow sparks grow strong enough to keep her safe. And then, finally, it had been enough. Rumi would be able to live her life without hearing Gwi-Ma’s voice, and the Honmoon was strong enough it hadn’t needed to call any more Hunters.

The Sunlight Sisters had finished the work of so many generations: a world without demons, a world where they could finally set down their weapons. Miyeong had done it for Rumi, of course; Sunmi had done it for all the little girls who would never need to be thrown into this battle after them. And Celine, who had started to do it all for Miyeong, had - somewhere between the bedtime stories and 3am bottle feeds and watching Rumi toddle towards her, tiny hands reaching up for Celine - started to do everything for Rumi as well.

Now her baby girl is standing before her, coloured marks pulsing across her skin.

And all Celine knows is that she failed.

“Rumi-ya,” she whispers. “What happened? I don’t understand…”

—

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Celine says.

Miyeong is still holding her hand flat against her chest. Celine should move - it doesn’t feel right, that she should be touching Miyeong without Miyeong knowing what it means to Celine, to be touching her like this. To be touching her at all.

Before she can say anything, a door opens and another young man emerges from one of the bedrooms. Then he catches sight of the two of them and throws his hands up to cover his face.

“ARGH, MY EYES! Why are you both so gross?!”

“Don’t you start,” Miyeong warns him, although she does let Celine take her hand back. “How do you think you got here?”

“Not like that!” He staggers off towards the kitchen, eyes still covered, muttering darkly.

“So you’ve managed to scar two of them for life,” Miyeong teases. “Are you going to go three for three, or will you come talk to me?”

Celine lets herself be lead back into the bedroom, and Miyeong settles her back onto the bed and takes a seat next to her.

“Just tell me what you’re feeling,” Miyeong prompts. “You don’t have to have all the answers.”

Celine - Celine has not been in a position where that was remotely true since even before Rumi was born. But she’s willing to try.

“Confused,” she spits out after a moment. “Scared.”

“Because you thought I was dead?”

Celine cannot bring herself to say it. She just nods.

“Did you have a flashback..?”

“No, no, nothing like that—“

“Celine, love, nobody will think any less of you for going back on the antidepressants. There’s nothing wrong with getting help.”

“That isn’t it,” Celine confesses. “Miyeong-ah, I don’t know how to explain this but I don’t remember any of this. Not like I forgot things, but I remember different things happening.”

Understanding dawns slowly. “You remembered me dying.”

(Celine remembered her being dead, above all else, but it’s close enough that she nods.)

“… And Rumi? You were asking..”

(Celine does not think about the tree. Celine makes a decision not to think about the tree, which takes some effort.)

“I have to be sure she’s safe. I have to know—“

She’s shaking again. When did that happen?

“She’s fine, you heard Hajoon. She’s probably burning all our eggs and making a mess you’ll be cleaning up later, but there’s nothing wrong with her.”

(Rumi’s a good cook, out of necessity if nothing else. Too many times Celine had needed to take care of a breach in the Honmoon, and there was only so many packaged snacks she was willing to buy: Rumi had started making her own meals just so she wouldn’t have to rely on whatever Celine could pull together.)

(That is probably not the detail to get stuck on.)

“Miyeong, please. You have to believe me—“

“Of course I believe you! You saw something that terrified you, and you didn’t know what was real when you woke up. You know what Dr. Kim said about PTSD—“

“I don’t,” Celine does not snap, but she does raise her voice slightly. She regrets it immediately, and forces herself to take a deep breath. “I’m not hallucinating or insane, or whatever you’re thinking. This is a demon thing, it has to be.”

“I know it seems that way right now, but there aren’t any demons. Not any more.”

Celine watches as Miyeong reaches out to the Honmoon, letting it shimmer around them briefly.

“It’s over, love. No more demons.” Miyeong cradles Celine’s face in her hands. “Everyone’s safe.”