Sarag in the streets, Sarah in the sheets

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[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.

[secondtolastrow]

Rumi doesn’t just take the food, but actually eats it, which is… good.

Mira hopes. And hates that she hopes, because she wants to be angry right now, because Rumi was a dick and Zoey’s done literally nothing wrong and neither have Minji and Miyeong and so wanting her to like them again is stupid, but she still feels like someone hit her every time she sees Rumi sitting over there. Away from them.

She felt stupid last night, too, and she feels stupid right now, but then she thinks about Rumi telling her she was distracted by how pretty Mira was and what the hell was she supposed to think? Who just says that platonically?

Sixteenth century noblewomen, apparently.

There’s no point in hoping, anyway. It took them hours to get their last “miscommunication” straightened out, last night’s argument certainly wouldn’t have fixed her.

Rumi finishes her plate efficiently, one food at a time demolished, and then stands.

Conversation stops.

“I will wash the dishes,” she says. It sounds mostly like asking, maybe begging, even before she looks somewhere around Miyeong’s hands and adds, “If… that is acceptable to you?”

“Yeah,” Miyeong says. “We can do them together.”

Mira wants to grab her and shake her and ask her why the fuck she isn’t angry, how she can talk to Rumi without yelling. But she doesn’t.

“Are you done with that?” Miyeong asks.

Mira nods and pushes her plate slightly away. “Thank you.”

“Could you fill her glass again?” Minji asks, pulling that towards Miyeong too. “I doubt any of us want to nurse these hangovers all day.”

She doesn’t look in Rumi’s direction. Her voice is flatter than usual. Anger on her sleeve. Mira appreciates it even as her hackles raise, wary.

Rumi walks around them to the sink. She’s suddenly too close. Mira wants to scream.

“Do you have painkillers in the bathroom cabinet?” she asks. “Zoey and I couldn’t find them this morning.”

“Oh, yeah—“ Miyeong starts.

That’s all Mira needs to hear before, like a coward, she flees.

[the-fallen-blue]

The morning after the day of Miyeong's 39th birthday, Yeonggi woke her with flowers, and took her to breakfast at a place that everyone in the hospital had been talking about for months but neither she nor Yeonggi could afford.

And she had been so relieved, so happy to be wrong, to know that she had been crazy and catastrophizing. To have proof that he did care and did pay attention and it was true, it was reasonable, that he got caught up at work. That anyone could have, that having other higher priorities didn't have to mean she wasn't even on his list at all. She had smiled, and laughed, all through breakfast, and when they got back to the apartment she had his pants off half a meter through the door, but he had stopped her, for a moment, and given her the oddest, saddest look.

And he had said, "I know I'm the last person who should be complaining, but you forgive too easily, Miyeong."

She'd brushed him off, then. Told him she'd have to be a hypocrite not to, because look at her, the unprincipled muckraker, and he hadn't said anything else about it. But it sat with her, in the back of her mind, and for five years she's poked at it, on and off, like an uncomfortable loose tooth.

She pokes at it now, as she washes dishes next to Rumi, who is drawn in on herself like she's walking through a crowded antique store and if she dares to take up an inch too much space, a dozen impossibly valuable things will shatter.

Because it's not that Miyeong forgives her, exactly. She can't imagine what Celine is feeling right now, but she can certainly see what Zoey and Mira are. And maybe that means Yeonggi was right, because Rumi hasn't even apologized, and here Miyeong is, extending her a hand, unprompted and unearned. But Rumi is clearly more than suffering the consequences of her actions, and Miyeong was young and stupid once, too. She's not angry, anymore, just sad, and there's nothing she can do about that, no capacity in her to manufacture an emotion she doesn't feel, no matter how righteous or appropriate, even if she wanted to.

So she tells Rumi, "I was able to get some good information out of that license plate," because she should probably say something and it feels like the most neutral available topic. "I think there's at least one more wraith who's never been to the new base, but I'm pretty sure I know where to find her. It?"

"That is… reassuring," says Rumi, who does not sound reassured. And who does not make any effort to pick up her half of the conversation, letting her response sit, there, and continuing to wash dishes in silent misery.

Miyeong gives her a minute, and then starts, "Rumi—"

"I do not—" Rumi cuts her off, winces, and then, when Miyeong gestures for her to continue, bows her head lightly and gratefully and then stares, determined, into the sink. "I do not… understand. That much has been made very clear to me. But… I am trying to."

She scrubs a moment longer, working the sponge around a perfectly clean plate.

"I know that is not enough. I... rest assured that I will not speak of the matter again, regardless. You are—"

Her hands still, on the plate, half-buried in the suds, her shoulders hunch, and her voice loses what little confidence it had, making her sound small, and lost.

"I do not wish for there to be discord between us."

You forgive too easily, Miyeong.

"Then there isn't."

Rumi's shoulders relax, just a fraction, and yeah, fine. Maybe Yeonggi was right.

But Miyeong can live with it.

[secondtolastrow]

It only takes another moment or two for Rumi to fish herself out of the sink and turn in Minji’s direction, which… isn’t nearly as smiley as Miyeong’s. Zoey wants to admire it, but she wants even more for this all to be over and for them to just be okay again.

“I can only offer the same words to you. My words were ill-conceived and I will not repeat them,” she says, all guilty and quiet, bowing now that there’s not a sink in her way.

Minji studies her for a moment, expression quietly torn. “I… I told you last night that I didn’t care why. I—that’s—you can ask questions. Good faith questions.”

“Thank you,” Rumi says. She looks, Zoey thinks, like someone way too scared to ask any questions at all.

When the dishes are done, though, she comes to sit carefully on the armchair, closer than before but still at a distance. Hard to tell if she’s scared of gay crush cooties or of having someone else yell at her. Mira’s scowl definitely isn’t helping, and Zoey’s not sure of whether to elbow her about it or not.

Like the sky’s been listening in, and decided it needs to let Zoey know that no more apologies are forthcoming, the first fat droplets of rain start splattering against the windowpane.

“Shouldn’t have bothered with watering,” Miyeong grumbles, sliding onto the couch (and halfway into Minji’s lap).

“It didn’t look like rain,” Minji points out, looping an arm around Miyeong’s waist seemingly on autopilot.

They’re cute. Zoey should be thinking about how they’re cute.

(She is instead watching Rumi watch them.)

“Well, Celine should be back soon,” Miyeong sighs, watching at the rain swiftly starts turning into massive sheets. Then she smirks. “Unless she got locked out.”

Mira snorts.

Zoey’s meds must not have kicked in yet, though, because what comes out of her mouth in response to the joke is “Hey, how many umbrellas do you have?”

Miyeong blinks.

The look on her face is not that of someone who owns enough umbrellas for six grown adults.

“…Umbrella?” Rumi asks tentatively. She winces as they turn to look at her, but still carries on. “As in?” She sketches the rough shape of one in the air.

Which is good. Because Zoey was a little scared of finding out that the umbrella was invented in, like, 1950.

Miyeong nods.

Rumi blinks, startled, and maybe a little impressed. This is usually when she’d say something about an age of wonders. But she doesn’t.

“I have two,” Miyeong says, turning back to Zoey.

The door opens. Enter Celine: only slightly drowned.

“Neither of which was with her, clearly,” she adds, and the force of her smile is enough to make Zoey smile back, regardless of everything else.

[the-fallen-blue]

When Celine comes back from the bathroom, clothes changed and hair toweled and mug of tea in hand, she plops down on the couch next to Minji. There's plenty of space, with Miyeong halfway in Minji's lap, but Mira is not the least bit surprised when Celine sits at her usual almost-touching proximity regardless.

For her part, Mira is pressed shamelessly against Zoey on the loveseat, Zoey's arms now wrapped around TeeJay, who never made it back to the bedroom after the Distilled Passions marathon. Mira found him half tucked into the couch cushions when she sat down, and Zoey's tiny, grateful smile might just get her through the rest of today alive.

And then Celine says, "We need to decide how to approach the wraith situation," and Mira is abruptly reminded that only some of the threats to her life right now are actually figurative.

Rumi wrings her hands, and summons a shaky facsimile of her usual confident tone. "Broadly, two strategies of attack are available to us. From Kkachi-nim's report, the wraiths come and go at intervals, overlapping once in the afternoon. We could attack early, and face only one or two, alongside whichever servant of the cult is preparing the new ritual, then eliminate other wraiths as they arrive."

"Sounds safest," says Minji, suspicious. "Why is there another option?"

"Wraiths communicate through Gwi-Ma, when they have his attention," says Celine. "Which they almost certainly do, right now."

"So we kill a couple, the others go to ground, we start all over," Zoey concludes, face scrunching in distaste.

Rumi nods, grave. "It is indeed likely. We might also attack at the hour when we know they gather, to prevent this. If the patterns observed by Kkachi-nim hold, this would mean facing five to six wraiths at once, and the summoner as well, but would leave at most two wraiths at large."

There's a long moment of quiet.

"… an apartment complex is a sieve," says Miyeong, eventually. "If we're worried about runners, we need to be able to cover exits. That means splitting up, or fighting inside. Close quarters nerfs one of our big guns, splitting up means there aren't enough big guns to go around."

Celine taps her fingers on her mug. "I would prefer to teach you all more, but you would not be helpless without us."

A ringing endorsement.

"I got us a floor plan," says Miyeong. "The printer's an expensive paperweight at the moment, but if I bring it up on my laptop, maybe you guys can point out some… I don't know, chokepoints or whatever?"

"A map would be most advantageous," says Rumi, with the first spark of life in her eyes to be seen all morning, and Mira's traitorous little heart kicks in her chest.

[grundpfeiler]

Minji closed her eyes and leaned her forehead into Miyeong's back. The others were ignoring something - and probably would not be happy about her pointing it out.  But... what was it that Celine had said - that Gwi-Ma worked on shame? She'd need to ask again - and nail it down so that she understood what was meant.

Give her a block of wood and she'd find a way to make it complicated or misconstrue it if she wasn't careful. Usually by categorizing it and then hear a description that didn't fit that category. And that was something physical, tangible that could be pointed at and people could identify the object pointed at. Something emotional was so much worse- was regret mistakes in the past (in which case - she was a walking weak point. Medicine meant living with the question of whether you could have done something different. And not being the hospital, the pandemic, the times she lost her temper...) or was it Gwi-Ma finding hooks in people wanting what they hadn't earned.

Minji breathed in - letting herself feel the weight. People wanting to keep what they couldn't maintain. To change things that cannot be changed - the past, realities about inherent limitations.

So much easier to make a wish than admit that you made the wrong choice, were the wrong person.

Enough warmth for a lifetime. Minji was tired of collecting regrets. 

Her goals yesterday had been... 

Everyone getting out of this alive. 

Keeping her family out of this. 

Apologies to her coworkers families. 

Do not let Miyeong talk herself out of actually trying with Celine.

Keeping Miyeong, Celine and the kids as part of her life.

...was she asking, wishing for too much? 

Well, keeping her family out of it was failing and she needed to accept that but Celine had reassured Halmeoni and wasn't worrying so that must be a failure but stabilized. 

Everyone getting out alive was not optional, including her - Minji needed to get through everything if she was to give those apologies. 

Pretending that she was acceptable for Miyeong - probably was something that Gwi-Ma could fit in. 

... If she could keep everyone as part of her life, she wanted it so desperately. 

Gwi-Ma fed on shame, and he made people think he could give them what they wanted. Never mind that it would be a monkey's paw granting wishes. Demons and monsters did not give you what you wanted - if they did it was at the cost of something you weren't willing to pay. Or it was something you only thought you wanted. 

Minji needed to let the cards fall as they may with holding onto the others. (If you love someone let them go.) Maybe she would be lucky, maybe she wouldn't. But that was the thing she wanted most desperately. (Maybe when she talked with Celine she would be able to tell her that the shame was something else. Maybe she could still dream. Maybe.) 

But she would not add to her regrets, if only because if anything happened to the others in the room because she stayed silent the grief would bury her alive.  She finally lifted her forehead off Miyeong and opened her eyes. 

 "Are we sure those are the only two options?" She asked the room. "Have we figured out why they've been looking for me so damn much? Is it something that could be useful?" She would need to talk to Rumi - probably in private. (Another way that drunk Minji had made her life more difficult - keep the biting turtle away from the most recent target was not the most difficult conflict resolution to think of. ) If the only reason for not going for the safer option was lack of ability to find them afterwards... Their group did have bait. The fact she was a millstone around their collective neck burned. The others would not have stepped away from the fight anyways - but adding someone actively hunted... That had made it personally with all these wonderful, courageous fools. Maybe she could still be useful, maybe- 

No. No. No wishing. No hoping. Not until the all clear is sounded. 

Acceptance. Her friends outside of this room and her family were dead. And Minji had only ever been able to earn a place around the fire in a hospital. This was the best she could be - and changes would either be worse or Gwi-Ma bait worse.  And she was already wraith bait.

[secondtolastrow]

Rumi pauses, waiting for the honored shaman to answer. It is clear that Minji-nim is still angry with her, and she would not like to worsen the issue by speaking out of turn.

“A wraith has two governances,” the honored shaman offers, thankfully. “You exist at the intersection of both Gwi-Ma’s whims and the summoner’s stated purpose, and so…”

How polite a way of putting it.

Gwi-Ma’s whim is to destroy those who stand against him. To destroy Rumi. It is only by associating with her that Minji-nim has become a target.

“The summoner’s stated purpose?” Minji-nim echoes, frowning.

Mira coughs to draw attention to herself without moving from where her arm is draped over Zoey’s shoulders. “Keeping anyone from noticing he kidnapped me. Or tracking me down.”

“Ah. Right.“ Minji-nim presses a thumb against her temple. “Okay.”

“It is unlikely that they would come for you on the day of the summoning, even if we attempted to get their attention,” Rumi offers, carefully. “Though they might target you excessively on our attack.”

She would not want Minji-nim unaware of the dangers, or even attempting to sacrifice herself.

“Okay, well, back to splitting up,” Zoey says, leaning forward on her knees, still not dislodging Mira. “Do you want to keep out of the fighting? Do any of you?”

She does not even think to include herself. Something strange and painful wrenches in Rumi’s chest, where yesterday it would have been warm with admiration.

Minji-nim is the only one who answers. “No, no, I’m—I’m not staying behind. I’m going to help.“

“Minji—“ Miyeong-nim started, concerned.

Minji-nim shook her head. “I’m the best fighter after Rumi. It might not be saying much in this situation, but I am.”

Part of Rumi bristled worriedly at the exchange, fearful of cruelty between them. Yet—

Miyeong-nim took Minji-nim’s hand in hers, a familiar gesture of tenderness. “I know you are. It doesn’t mean I can’t worry when you start talking about being useful all ‘come back with your shield or on it’ like that.”

Does it truly not matter that they are both women? Are her fears misplaced? Is she blinding herself to truths?

[noodlejaq]

🐉

[chujellys]

there's a family of local sandhill cranes that adopted an abandoned goose last summer and they're STILL together today even after migration.... i love them + they're local celebrities + nature is beautiful

[chujellys]

yesterday’s update… 📸 everyone is paparazzi when ur this famous…

[dduane]

In the “No, no, we were just kidding” Hasty Pivot dep’t…

Company Offering Printed Books to Train AI Stops After 404 Media Coverage

Citing backlash, ISBNdb removed its webpages about training AI, denied ever buying, scanning, or selling a book for AI training, and said th

In one now-removed article on its site, ISBNdb said that printed books published before 2022 are ideal for AI training data because they don’t include AI generated text, and ingesting these books could prevent model collapse. The article also suggested that book authors who might be opposed to this use of their work could just write with manipulating and sabotaging AI models in mind.  404 Media spoke to booksellers and saw reports online detailing a sudden uptick in sales recently. “It's not just the quantity, but the weirdness of the orders,” one bookseller told 404 Media. “The type of books [...] there's no rhyme or reason to it. Also, there's a total disregard for the price of the book. I've had some books that sold through this way that were [...] greatly overpriced. That's kind of a tell for AI because they have just so much money.”  “Purchasing paper books at scale from the secondary market does not deprive any creator of income they would otherwise have received,” one of ISBNdb’s now-removed pages said. “These are books that have already fully discharged their financial obligation to their creators.”

And yeah, sure, why don't all of us who value writing as art just spend the rest of our lives sabotaging that vital imperative by trying to screw up what we do enough to screw you up. Absolutely. Makes perfect sense.

(SIDE EYE)

[fakelawyerbug]

(Any complaints or requests for financial compensation should be addressed to @secondtolastrow for starting this)

But Mirrorverse AU where normal Celine (was maybe not the best parent but 100% loves Rumi and would never intentionally harm her) swap places with mirror!Celine (sees Rumi as a weapon and a "tame demon" and nothing more);

Main!Celine wakes up at the hanok wondering why (and when that got built) there's a kennel behind the house and why there's a cattle prod hanging outside the door.

Opening the door and seeing a demonic looking Rumi sleeping on a floor mat, chained to the floor with a collar, muzzled, and hands shackled behind her.

Main!Celine going, "what the fuck" which wakes Rumi up and Rumi is suddenly cowering away from her.

And mirror!Zoey and mirror!Mira come up behind main!Celine (mirror!Rumi cowers even more) and is like, yeah we don't know what's causing this so we put it back in its kennel for you to fix.

(Main!Celine going wtf wtf wtf)

Meanwhile;

Mirror!Celine wakes up at the hanok, Rumi and the girls show up to finally have that talk with Celine post-Idol Awards and mirror!Celine immediately goes, "why is that thing unmuzzled?"

And the girls immediately go, who the fuck is this and where is Celine?

And anyways;

Shenanigans from main!Celine trying to get mirror!Rumi into her world while trying to pretend to be evil;

The girls from the main verse trying to find main!Celine and getting increasingly fed up with mirror!Celine

[secondtolastrow]

Celine snaps at mirror!Zoey and Mira immediately—“Get out!”

It’s a bad habit of hers, one she’s working on, and she knows she should get a visible wince from Zoey and a pause from Mira for it. Instead these duplicates just share a glance and, shrugging, step out, like this is completely expected behavior

(Mirror!Rumi is a little smaller than her counterpart, muscle packed a little closer to the bone, body fat next to none. It’s how she holds herself that really makes her look it, though, head ducking, shoulders curling, every movement afraid to take up space)

She drops down to her knees and Rumi freezes, gaze fixed on her.

“Rumi?” she says, careful, gentle, and if anything, that makes it worse. “I’m not going to hurt you; you can breathe.”

The sound of air dragging through the muzzle is painful.

(And the demon is terrified, because the only time it can remember Celine being gentle, it was so near death that she thought it might not make it, and it doesn’t want to be disobedient, doesn’t want to die, but it just can’t.)

“Thank you, Rumi,” Celine says, after a minute or two, when it seems like Rumi is a little bit calmer, when her own mind has settled into the mad, adrenaline-fueled state of fuck it, this is what we’ve got. “You’re doing well.”

Rumi shivers and pushes away as much as her chains will allow and then freezes. Like she expects there to be a negative response.

Celine does not give her one.

Finally. Finally. “…What is ‘Rumi’?”

(Meanwhile, mirror!Celine has been tied to a chair with duct tape and is currently being checked for, like, possession or something but… hey where did she get that scar?

“Why do you think I keep it muzzled?”)

[fakelawyerbug]

"What do you mean keep it muzzled?" Zoey asks. She sounds horrified. As if the thought of a demon being made safe to handle was, somehow, a new concept.

Maybe here it was, Celine muses, staring at the demon who was whisper-arguing with Mira as if it had an opinion worth listening to. Clearly the her that once existed in this world trained her girls too gently if the way this Mira was listening to it was anything to go by.

It was good. If they could be so easily misled by a demon, then it should be simple to convince them of the correct way of doing things.

She would leave this world safer before she returned to hers.

"Why do you sound so shocked?" Celine asks. "You know why one muzzles a wild dog, yes?"

***

Celine takes a moment to collect herself. Don't be so quick to make assumptions, her mentor had always told her. For all she knew, this girl had simply been called by a different name. After all, hadn't she spent a hundred days mulling over different names before deciding on Rumi?

(She wonders when hope becomes delusion.)

"Rumi is a name, aegi," Celine says. "Is your name something different?"

[secondtolastrow]

It swallows at the tenderness, at whatever game this is.

The demon does not have a name. The demon does not have a name, because the demon does not have an identity—it is a thing, a black hole, a hunger restrained by whatever means necessary.

“Names are for people, Master,” it tells Celine, with perfect certainty of what she wants.

(Demons cannot be good, but they can be… skilled, it supposes. They are meant to be skilled at seeing what people want. Using it.

The demon is very attuned to these things when it comes to Celine—to Zoey and Mira as well. It isn’t very skilled at telling what it wants, though. Even at concerts, when it sees the souls of the crowd ignite from the wings, feels an urgency swell up, it doesn’t. Know.)

Celine stops. Right where she is. Not the dangerous stillness that precedes a blow, somehow, but—still. It trembles as it waits for one nonetheless.

“Excuse me,” she says.

It waits against the wall, trying not to breathe as she steps out. Its eyes close to visions of pain, of the briskness with which Celine always conducts herself in correcting its behavior.

Instead, it hears the sound of Celine’s fist slamming into the kennel wall and then her crying out. And then, almost, her crying—a pair of breathless hiccups.

“Okay,” Celine says to herself. “Okay. You are awake. Start with the body: is she injured, is she hungry, is she clean.”

“Jesus fuck,” says Mira.

Celine almost smiles—it’s the exact same reaction her Mira had on first seeing the demon, thinking it looked like a girl her own age.

[fakelawyerbug]

"Yes, that's what you said the first time too. And then you learned better than to trust appearances when it comes to its kind." Celine says this breezily, as if she were talking about the weather instead of the demon perched on the coffee table, staring at her as if she had grown monstrous.

The look makes something in her chest burn -- how dare that thing look at her like that? As if it were in a place to judge anyone?

"You thought it could learn to behave, that it's nature could be trained out of it," Celine says, staring straight at the demon. "I had to pry her off you with a cattle prod and you never made the mistake of treating it like a person again."

At this, the demon lost its nerve. Its eyes dart to Mira before it takes a shaky breath and stands up.

"I need a moment," it says, before making its way down the hall.

Before it had turned its back to them, Celine saw the tightness around its mouth and eyes; the paleness of its face.

Good, she thinks. Someone needs to remind you of what you are.

***

First, injuries.

On a cursory glance, the girl didn't seem hurt -- though Celine had tended to enough, and had been tended to enough, to know that the eye was a very inaccurate tool. But the girl was able to curl into herself. Not in the way an injured animal curls into itself, but loose, as if she were simply waiting.

She supposed she was glad that the...people here weren't so cruel as to deprive the girl of clothing -- as minimal as a gray sweatshirt and sweatpants were, they were at least something. Unfortunately, it meant she couldn't see if there were any injuries underneath them.

Carefully, Celine kneels in front of the girl.

"I need you to be honest with me, okay?" Celine says, trying to catch the girl's eye. "Are you hurt anywhere? Did anyone injure you?"

[secondtolastrow]

The girl shakes her head. Pauses. Shifts her wrists a little with a slightly questioning tint to her fearful expression.

“I’m going to look at them,” Celine says, and waits until she gets some kind of acknowledgment before she slides around to pick up the girl’s hand.

There’s redness under the shackle, and old scar tissue, but at least no current open sores.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, coming back around, making sure they can see each other’s faces. “I’ll get you some lotion, okay? And I’ll find the key to let you out of those.”

Shakily, the girl nods. She looks like she isn’t often “let out of those”.

“When did you last eat?” Celine asks, careful to avoid the subjective Are you hungry?

“…Last night?” the girl offers, hesitantly. “Your Hunters have been—they’ve been managing upkeep well. Not—“

She cuts herself off, cringing, like she expects to be struck for speaking out of turn.

(Or maybe like Celine’s face was twisting in disgust.)

//

“You never let it hurt Zoey, though. You made sure to show her what it was before she could make your mistakes.” Celine looks from Mira to Zoey, tilts her head slightly. “I’m sure she protects you here, too, doesn’t she?”

“I’m pretty sure if I thought all humans came with cattle prods, I’d bite too,” Mira tells her, all but shivering with rage.

“Problem at hand,” Zoey points out, though she’s pale and uncomfortable and shifting where she stands. “Did you switch places with our Celine on purpose? Do you know how you switched places with our Celine?”

Celine gives them a tired look. Why in the world would she want to fix this world when she’s already got enough problems on her own?

[fakelawyerbug]

"There's enough that needs fixing in my world," Celine says, thinking of the rapidly thinning honmoon and how she needed Zoey and Mira to be ready for debut within the year even if they had never found a third hunter. "I certainly didn't intend to spread myself even thinner trying to save another."

("Oh, is that what you're doing," she hears Mira mutter.)

"So...you don't know how to switch back with our Celine then."

It's not phrased as a question but Celine answers anyways, "No, I don't know. But the archives might. Some of the old hunters were very diligent about cataloguing the behaviors of the honmoon. If anyone had encountered anything similar, you would find it there."

The girls were pretending to not listen to her but from the set of their shoulders and the tilt of their heads, Celine could tell that they were absorbing every word. They might not have been the girls she trained, but she still knew them.

"If you untie me, I could help," she says. "I would like to return to my world as soon as possible. I'm sure your Celine is perfectly capable of bringing a demon to heel but I would prefer to not have to train out any bad habits, do you understand?"

//

Managing upkeep. As if she were one of Celine's motorcycles that would benefit from a quick ride and a wipe down before being garaged for the winter.

She forces her face into a pleasant neutrality. She has a feeling that if she showed her actual emotions, it would cause the girl to panic in the belief that she had done something wrong and would be disciplined for it.

(And she doubted discipline here looked like groundings and phone bans and laps before dinner.)

From the way the sun seeped through the slates of the shed, it must have been mid-afternoon now. Her Rumi would have been asking about lunch hours ago.

"Well, it looks like I must not be doing a good job today, hm?" Celine says, straightening up. "You were probably supposed to eat already. I'll make some lunch and we can clean you up after you get some food in you. What would you like to eat?"

[secondtolastrow]

The girl is, clearly, not used to being asked her opinion on food.

Finally, nervously, she offers, “The… the soup? With the salty meat?”

And, knowing Rumi, salty meat has to mean spam which means—spam kimchi jjigae. Just the easiest possible thing for her to prepare. Celine wonders if the girl knows that.

“I think we can do that,” Celine says, gently. She doesn’t want to leave the girl here, but she doesn’t have the keys, so— “I’ll be back soon.”

The girl bows her head, and Celine goes. She sets Mira and Zoey to the cooking, reminds them to add some tofu into the mix—it’s not her preference, but Rumi likes it that way, so the girl might too—and goes in search of the keys.

She finds an unfamiliar set hung neatly beside the door and bottles of lotion and aloe vera and cortisone cream—just in case—in her bedroom and, checking the chest at the foot of her bed, which seems just a bit bigger…

Duplicates of the plain, gray clothes. Because that’s normal.

They’re clean, at least, Celine thinks grimly.

//

“I understand that you aren’t going anywhere,” Mira responds.

“Is it bad that I kind of want to gag her?” Zoey asks, in a voice that sounds like a more polished, more confident version of the one her trainee has been starting to break out during skirmishes in fits and starts.

It would be threatening, if not for that.

“Ugh, same,” Mira drawls. “Whatever. Rock-paper-scissors for who waits here and who goes to get Rumi?”

“But you always win,” Zoey points out, pouting.

It’s almost like they don’t care. Almost.

“Scared?” Celine asks. “To be alone with your own mentor?”

It works like a charm: Mira scoffs at her and stalks off to go find the demon, leaving Zoey—who, Honmoon bless her, was as suggestible and easily cowed a girl as a Hunter could be—scowling at her from against the far wall, arms crossed.

“You really let her be alone with it?” Celine asks, letting her morbid curiosity start them off.

[fakelawyerbug]

"Her name is Rumi," Zoey hisses. "And she's a person, not a thing, you crazy --."

Zoey forces herself to calm down. (Breath through your nose for four seconds. Breath out between your lips for seven. Their Celine had taught her that.)This was clearly some evil version of Celine trying to get a rise out of her.

"It is a demon. And it's dangerous," Evil Celine says.

"Rumi helped save the world from Gwi-ma," Zoey argues. "She stopped me and Mira from listening to him. I don't care what you say, you're never going to convince me that Rumi should be...muzzled like a dog!"

//

Zoey and Mira set out three bowls.

Celine supposed that it was too much to hope for that they allowed Rumi into the hanok to eat. Sighing, she grabbed a fourth and began to ladle in a generous helping.

"Who's that for, teacher?" Zoey asks, looking at Celine curiously.

"I'm taking this out for -- the demon," she says, her mouth tripping over the unfamiliar title.

(Names are for people, she had said with the same conviction as winter is cold and the sky is blue.)

"But it's not feeding time yet," Mira says. "You always said keeping it on a consistent schedule keeps it from acting out."

"You two are asking a lot of questions today, hmm?" She felt like she was going to be sick. No wonder this Rumi was so much smaller than her Rumi at this age.

She was starving her own daughter.

[secondtolastrow]

The girl shivers and presses back when Celine comes in, the same trembling from their first encounter, but this time, she lurches forward and into a posture that looks practiced, apologizing.

“It’s okay,” Celine says. “I must’ve startled you, hm?”

The girl’s head stays down. She does not answer. But her shoulders tense and loosen at the same time somehow.

Celine sets down the bowl and comes over—this must be the posture for mealtime, with her head tilted forward to expose the tiny lock on the muzzle. (And what would normally happen if it wasn’t assumed immediately? Would the girl still be allowed to eat?)

There aren’t any red marks from the muzzle digging into her skin, at least—Celine supposes it would be impractical not to make sure it fit well—but there is, perhaps more sickeningly, a tan line.

“Shackles next,” Celine says.

She watches the shiver of surprise run through the girl, but (though she probably would’ve earlier, if cringing all the way) she doesn’t make a move to ask or give her a questioning look or anything.

But then, her teeth are out. Any of that would be a threat, wouldn’t it?

//

“Rumi?” Mira asks.

Rumi shudders and jumps away from her, an awkward half-falling movement from her seat on the back steps. “Oh, Mira, uh… hey?”

Mira smiles a little. “Hey.”

Rumi slides all the way up against the rail, as subtly as she can. Which, now knowing Rumi’s avoidant behavior from inside her head as well as out, is not very.

Mira sits close, but doesn’t pen her in. “She’s a piece of fucking work.”

“Yeah?” She looks away. Wrong tack, then.

“Uh-huh. Thought she could actually get us to untie her to search the archives,” Mira offers.

Rumi huffs, amused. At least there’s that.

“It’s freaky, how much she—“

“How are you sitting so close?” Rumi blurts. “After what she said?”

[fakelawyerbug]

"Rumi what the fuck are you talking about," is what Mira wanted to say. But Rumi already looked tired and skittish and Mira knew She had already gotten into Rumi's head. Instead, she sighs and runs her fingers over her face before flopping down on the grass.

"You mean after the biting thing?"

Rumi nods.

"She put you in a muzzle," Mira says slowly.

"I attacked you," Rumi mutters into the crook of her arm. She looks out at the backyard. It was summer and the back garden was in full bloom. Rows of calming lavender ("Look, Cece, we match!"), cheerful sunflowers ("They're not ready yet, Rumi-ya. We have to wait until the petals fall off before we can eat them."), white and red hibiscus waiting to be brewed into tea ("Yuck. This tastes gross, Cece.")

Celine liked to spend her time out here in the morning and evenings. Rumi had been hoping to find her here when she came to visit. Had been hoping they could garden together and pretend nothing had changed before -- before they talked.

"You didn't do anything," Mira says. "Her Rumi did. And frankly, if I was getting muzzled, I'd bite the first person to take it off too."

//

The shackles fall to the floor with a solid thunk and the girl brings her hands to her lap, fingers digging into her knees as if she weren't sure what to do with them.

Her eyes flicker from the metal spoon in the bowl to Celine. She doesn't make a move towards the bowl. (Was she allowed utensils for meals? Celine wonders. Or was she expected to simply grab what she could with her teeth?)

(It made a sick amount of sense in her head.)

(Celine supposed she wouldn't have allowed a demon access to anything that could be used as a weapon. Even if it were something as simple as a spoon.)

[secondtolastrow]

“You can eat,” she tries, gently.

The girl bites at her lip and her gaze flicks between Celine and the door. Like, usually, there’s someone standing there to make sure she doesn’t run.

Celine doesn’t move.

She picks up the spoon with a clumsy, unpracticed grip, and Celine gently clears her throat. She nearly jumps out of her skin, dropping it with a clatter and pushing herself away from the spoon.

“You’d spill if you held it that way,” Celine says. “Can I show you?”

The girl only stares back, silent and wide-eyed.

Slowly, carefully, telegraphing each movement, Celine kneels to pick up the spoon, wrapping her fingers around it. “See?”

She offers it back to the girl, who reaches out and mimics her, however shakily.

Celine smiles. “Good.”

//

“But it’s in me,” Rumi mutters, frustrated, looking away again. “Hurting you.”

It’s objectively fucking ridiculous, Mira thinks, and she’s pretty sure her old therapist would be proud of her for being self-aware enough to recognize that she has engaged in almost this exact same brand of behavior.

She sighs, feeling the grass scratch at her bare skin. “If Celine showed up right now, our Celine, are you telling me you’d be scared of her deciding to buy a cattle prod?”

Rumi scrunches up her face and pokes her in the stomach with her foot, annoyed by the logic.

“Well?”

“No,” she admits.

Mira hums and shifts her body a little closer. “Are you going to talk to me about whatever else it is?”

“I… I told her she didn’t love me. That night,” she says quietly. “And now…”

Before they can deal with that, of course, Zoey’s shout of “Are you kidding me?” echoes all the way down to them.

[fakelawyerbug]

Mira and Rumi barely need to share a look between them before the both of them are lurching to their feet and running back into the hanok to check on Zoey.

In hindsight, they really should have known that Zoey, their maknae who enjoyed experimenting with wrestling moves on demons, would have been perfectly fine without them. Because what they see when they return is Zoey looming over Evil Celine, who looked like she was trying to appear nonchalant but was also pressing herself against the back of the chair she was tied to, pointing aggressively with one of her knives.

"How can you say that about your own daughter!?" She's demanding.

"That thing is not and will never be my daughter," Not Celine spits out with a vehemence Mira had only heard directed towards Gwi-ma and a few select industry executives.

Rumi flinches before she breaths out. And in a moment, Mira saw Rumi slide her mask of idol perfection over her face.

"Put the knife away, Zoey," Rumi says with an icy control. "She's just trying to get under your skin."

//

Awkwardly, clumsily, the girl feeds herself with the spoon. Her first attempts spill more soup than gets into her mouth but by the time the bowl is half empty, her hands have stopped shaking.

There's still almost a quarter of the soup left in the bowl when the girl sets it down. Celine works very hard to not frown. Her Rumi, all three of the girls really, had been the human equivalent of bottomless pits when they were teenagers. Between growth spurts and training, she had found herself at the market every other day just to keep the pantry stocked.

"Are you sure you don't want more?" She asks.

She watches at the girl freezes at the question. Her breathing getting tight and shallow as her eyes dart up to Celine before darting back down towards the floor again.

Celine felt the strange vertigo of watching a stranger's Rumi mimic how her Mira had answered questions back in the beginning -- like she was going through every possible answer and trying to pick the most correct one.

[secondtolastrow]

“I can bring it with us in case you decide you want more later, hm?” Celine says. “But if you don’t want more now, you can come get cleaned up.”

It almost wonders if this implies being gluttonous will mean it doesn’t get to be clean, but the idea is ridiculous—Celine hates it when the demon smells—and carefully picks up the spoon.

Celine has made soup, which she only did when it was bedridden and needed her to help feed it, and given it a spoon and given it extra food.

The demon is clearly very, very badly sick.

It needs to figure out how to get well—how to be good—as quickly as possible.

It swallows the last of the soup, even if its belly feels a little overfull, because there is no other alternative.

And it puts the muzzle back over its face and kneels.

For a moment, the strange mask Celine has been wearing slips. It sees how disgusted she is, how enraged.

Then it reappears, and she bends to pick up the tray and says, “Come on, aegiya,” without even glance at the chains.

//

Zoey huffs, pointing with her knife at Rumi and then shaking it in Evil Celine’s direction. “She’s better than you could even hope to be, and I’m doing this for her.”

At this point, yes, she does dismiss the weapon.

Evil Celine looks… moderately shaken. Mostly just like if she weren’t so classy she’d be spitting on their floor.

Zoey thinks fuck her classism and also everything else, and removes herself approximately five more feet away.

“How clear it is that no one is being manipulated by demon,” Evil Celine says dryly.

Mira immediately laughs at her, which does make Zoey feel better about this whole situation.

[frozenwolftemplar]

It's funny in a not-funny way, Mira thinks, the idea of Rumi being manipulative. Like, yeah, she tends to steamroll over people when her workaholic side's in the driver's seat, but she's also seen her fold at Zoey's puppy dog eyes or a despondent "I guess you can have the last hotteok."

If Rumi's a manipulative demon, then Mira's a callous socialite.

"The only thing clear," Mira says, folding her arms and looking down her nose at Celine's evil counterpart (...she officially owed Celine an apology about the 'implausibility' of her favorite K-drama). "Is that you're a bitch and not from around here. Remotely."

"Wonder how she even got here..." Zoey muses, tapping the flat of a shin-kal against her palm. 'And why."

"I'd think that's obvious," Evil!Celine sniffs, cutting a venomous look at Rumi. "To fix a mistake."

Rumi flinches like a jolt of electricity ripped through her; Mira wonders how important it is they not kill this Celine.

"New plan: I stay with the bitch, Rumes and Zoey, start seeing what you can find in the archives."

Rumi and Zoey book it, and Mira leans against the wall, idly summoning her gok-do after a while (not that she'd use it, just...to remind her who was the real Hunter here) and flicking her fingers against the bells dangling from the blade, like she couldn't care less about the woman on the floor in front of her. She'd had a lifetime of people trying to get under her skin and elicit a rise out of her; like Hell she was going to fall for this woman's games.

Celine watched, eyeing her critically as the bells jingled mockery.

The Hunters here were absolutely pathetic, lacking discipline, devotion, and respect for their mentor (they spoke too familiarly about her counterpart, and with none of the proper deference).

Clearly, she'd have to do something about them, too. Fortunately, she knows what makes Mira tick.

"You shouldn't keep treating it like this. Like it could be part of a family. Demons don't care about that."

The jingling stops.

//

The demon's confused.

When Celine took her inside to get washed up, she'd expected the tub in the basement. Cold water, a rough cloth, old soap.

Not Celine's personal shower, or the things she's lining up on the sink.

"Shampoo," she says, setting down a bottle filled with bright green that sparkles in the bathroom light. "Soap." A bar that smells like spring. "And a cloth." It looks so soft, the demon just wants to cuddle with it in its nest.

She smiles, like she did over the soup, and turns on the shower so steam fills the room. "That should be everything; I'll be right outside."

So she doesn't run and do horrible demon things. Of course.

The demon nods, once; and doesn't question why the sudden influx of nice things.

She's probably so sick she'll die soon. That explains this.

She doesn't think she'll mind.

[secondtolastrow]

Celine is almost completely certain that she does not want to know anything about how the girl has been cleaned for the rest of her life. And the almost is only because she’d like something to reassure her that the girl knows what shampoo is and won’t try to drink it.

She waits outside the door, holding the muzzle and listening to the squeaks of surprise that accompany the water turning up—and then off—and then on again.

She twists the object over and around in her hands. It’s larger than she thinks any dog could possibly need, which means that her counterpart had to get it made to order. She wonders what the craftsperson thought they were doing.

The metal doesn’t give at all when she tests it, but there are few signs of wear on the outside anyway. Definitely no signs that the girl was trying to damage it.

She holds it up to her own face, tries to imagine.

The shower cuts off and she jerks it back down.

There’s shuffling inside, clothing moving. A long, worrying silence before the girl knocks at the door.

“Yes?” Celine asks.

“I will kneel?” the girl says, half a question. Because, of course, she wouldn’t have been left in any other room locked but the kennel before.

Celine opens the door, and finds a mess. There’s water everywhere. Not just where the girl is kneeling, her short hair dripping, but all along the outside of the bathtub, as if she—she hadn’t known how to use the shower curtain.

She sighs, trying to keep any negative emotion out of it, and puts down the muzzle to pick up the towel from where it was still folded on the toilet. “This was for you.”

The girl flinches.

“Let me dry your hair, hm?” Celine offers. “Then we’ll get your wrists.”

//

Mira almost takes the bait. Almost.

Almost rises to defend Rumi. Almost tilts her head and asks if Not Celine says things like that to her Mira, too. Almost asks her if she tells her Mira that they are family.

But she doesn’t. Because she’s not that kid who’d first tentatively, fearfully thought maybe Celine and Rumi could be her family, who’d been so scared of losing it or all her jagged edges she’d have done just about anything, who jumped at the very mention of the word.

She has one of those. She knows it.

Not Celine is just trying to play her, trying to play them, jumping from not wanting shit to do with their problems to needing to “right a wrong.”

She waits, silent, because anything she does is a tell. And that’s fine.

Mira knows how Celine works too, sort of—Rumi and the Honmoon are the twin centers of her universe. Not Celine can’t be too different

[zoloteh-volossya]

Master is surprisingly gentle as she blots the moisture from its hair. The demon is unmuzzled, dangerous, so it keeps itself very still, kneeling with its head down and its chin tucked into its chest.

Master moves on, toweling down its back and around its arms. Then she steps back and says, "Can you stand up for me?"

And the demon -- the demon is to remain kneeling at all times when its teeth are out, but the demon is also to always obey orders, but the demon has not been given its muzzle, which is on the counter, several steps away, and if the demon were to walk past the master to grab it that would definitely be Aggressive -- and so the demon. Shakes. Weighs its options. Obeys. It stands, spine hunched like its still kneeling in spirit, hands behind its back, chin curled tightly to its chest so it can't be Aggressive.

The demon hazards a glace up at Master, sees the anger in her eyes, and knows that it has done the wrong thing. But she doesn't correct it, just kneels down and dries off its chest and legs. (She has never kneeled when it was standing before. This is not the way that things should be. Something is very very wrong.)

Master hands it a set of clean clothing, and this, thankfully, it understands what to do with.

"Let me see your wrists," says Master, and this is... odd, there aren't any shackles in this bathroom that the demon can see, but maybe she brought some? So it turns around and assumes the shackling position, just... standing for some reason. Behind it, Master inhales, sharp, angry. The demon knows that sound, knows what follows it, knows that it has done something wrong... knows that it assumed the position incorrectly... Its knees erupt in twin starbursts of pain as it slams into the proper position, kneeling at her feet, wrists crossed behind its back. Then all it can do is stay still and hope that the correction is brief.

There is a long moment where nothing happens. The demon holds its position and tries not to tremble as it listens to the Master's breathing - rhythmic and controlled, deep inhales and exhales. Then, finally, it hears a step, feels her behind it, braces itself-- but there is no impact. Just her warm hands around its wrist, a 'splut' noise, and the feeling of a patch of something cold on its skin. Master's hands, gentle but firm, rub the coldness across her skin until it stops being cold and leaves nothing but a slightly oily sensation all around its wrist. She repeats the procedure for its other wrist. When she is done, she does not shackle it, she just stands up.

"Come on," she says. "Let's go."

And the demon (unmuzzled, unshackled, is it so close to death that she needs take no precautions with it?) does not understand.

---*---*---

Bobby is... confused, when Mira and Zoey call him in the middle of the afternoon to arrange a trip to the Jeju Island estate posthaste. He is even more confused that it's just the two of them, not Mira and Celine. But Celine made sure not to hire a manager with a propensity for asking questions, so, bless the man, he doesn't. He just calls their driver, and by the time their car has pulled up to Seoul Incheon Airport their private jet (v2, electric boogaloo) is sitting on the tarmac waiting for them.

"Do you think Mira will be okay, staying back there with that Celine?" Zoey asks.

"Mira's used to dealing with difficult adults," says Rumi, because she cannot say, 'Mira believes in me more than I do right now,' or, 'that's my job, I'm the leader, but if I stayed another minute around a Celine that hates me I think I would scream.'

"Well," says Zoey, crossing her arms and nodding with determination, "the sooner we find some answers the sooner we can send her to the world she came from and get our Celine back."

"We'll be sending her back to doing... all that... to her me," says Rumi, and Zoey's face pales with realization.

[polytrix-juseyo]

but rumi being taught japanese and english since she was a kid because she was going to be an idol and she needs to communicate in interviews and all that. and she was good enough at it until mira and zoey arrived.

mira being fluent in japanese and zoey in english, rumi literally said goodbye to those languages. brain emptied of it all.

and then there's so many videos of her just zoning out during these interviews in other languages, and celine is just seeing how all her work is crumbling down.

[frozenwolftemplar]

A lifetime of lessons undone in an instant by a pair of pretty bilingual girls, made all the worse for Celine because the exact same thing happened to her: Miyeong rattled off one sentence in Japanese, accent and syntax perfect, talking as naturally and easily as if it were Korean and smiling to show her dimples and-

and-

and-

[sink drain sound effects]

And now Celine's standing there, head empty no thoughts but 'pretty girl is speaking fluent Japanese.' (all those years of lessons are really paying off! 👍)

Even before the Honmoon chose Rumi, Celine had her learning Japanese. Miyeong spoke it so well, so fluently...it would feel like sacrilege to not have her daughter do the same, especially since she's (shamefully) picked up more then a little of Celine's French (she's been minding her tongue, but it slips out more than she'd care to admit).

Private lessons, books, a bargain that she can watch all the Sailor Moon she wants so long as it's in Japanese, Celine does everything she can humanly think of to have Rumi be fluent in Japanese.

And yet here she is, standing in the wings of a Tokyo TV set, watching Rumi smile dazedly as Mira fluently answer the interviewer's question about their newest album, head empty no thoughts but 'pretty girl is speaking fluent Japanese.'

Not a good day to be Celine.

And somewhere in the afterlife Miyeong is looking down and laughing.

"Oh, Cece...she's just like her eomma <3"

[teathattast]

[vixiebee]

Art Fight attack four!

This is another unofficial revenge from years past. Just freaking look how cool this character design is? We love snakes and pink in this house!!!

[secondtolastrow]

If you need something to tide you over while the main thread is percolating, give me your best blood cult AU omake moment. Something that happened during a timeskip or while the viewpoint characters weren't looking.

…Rumi learning about modern menstrual products. See: Celine’s crack about “not wanting” to be a mom and how she’d better not have to teach Rumi about tampons

Specifically Rumi is getting this talk from Minji while Celine stands there in the background falling deep deep in love with her (as Celine herself is, while watching, realizing from Minji’s completely chill attitude that honestly she was kind of making it weird and she admires how much Minji is not doing so at all)

And meanwhile Rumi’s just like whoa… we know so much shit know that’s fucking sick. While also feeling a little weird about casually discussing something “private” lol. And then someone introduces her to chocolate

It’s been a couple weeks someone has to have gotten their period by now

[the-fallen-blue]

Aw, casually competent nurse Minji and our big dumb lovergirl Celine being stupid for it <3

This seems like the moment when Rumi properly learns about America, also, when introducing her to chocolate spirals into a long argument about candy and sweets and ice cream and Zoey going back to her bewildered outrage that she couldn't find Mira any applesauce. Rumi, who has a dim sort of concept of how far away Europe is, loses her mind slightly when they show her a globe and cheerfully explain that Zoey's flight from LA was roughly 11 hours.

[secondtolastrow]

Rumi just sitting there paging through an atlas in complete and utter silence as she realizes that these maps are drawn in such a representational and non-stylized fashion on such a large scale because it’s still useful. People can travel such distances that it is actually useful to know what literal shape entire continents are

You can have a state as big as Brazil, or Canada, or the United States, or China, and those borders can be considered sustainable, because people can travel fast enough to effectively govern them

You can casually have chocolate and vanilla and coffee and—

What a world they live in

Eventually she just gives up and stares at the wall for a good few minutes. Before asking if they can make some of this applesauce or if it requires special equipment

[rylandgraces]

[kyleblackpaw]

Visit Original Link

Well as long as we’re talking about the ancient internet, who remembers this.

[deactivating-s00n-deactivated20]

tumblr users’ obsession with self-reporting (especially as a weird form of penance) needs to be studied

[deactivating-s00n-deactivated20]

you don’t need to tell the world you still like Harry Potter because it’s your comfort movie or because your dad read it to you when you were little or something like that in response to a post about the harm continued monetary support of Harry Potter causes. you don’t need to tell tumblr all the myriad of reasons you don’t like rap under a post about how rap is often misrepresented as ultra-violent or overtly sexual and misogynistic because of racism. No one on tumblr has to know anything about you. no one has to know you still read your old Harry Potter books or that the only rap artist you like is Eminem. No one is going to say “oh of course you’re the One True Good Person with a Good Reason!” when you say that rap is difficult to listen to because of your auditory processing disorder or you’re only a part of the Marauders fandom. Just keep your shit to yourself and don’t embarrass yourself under other peoples’ posts.

[lebada]

funniest possible reply and its not even on purpose

[crimeronan]

-charlotte zhang art installation at the alice gallery

[sailatina3]

Brown is a beautiful color FUCK all the propaganda trying to convince us its ugly.

[galis-gock]

It's true! Brown is awesome! <3

[waterfire1848]

ON THE SUBJECT OF RUMI NOT KNOWING HOW TO DEAL WITH A TRAUMATIZED 6 YEAR OLD, I just had an eeeeeeeevil idea

The penthouse has this one staircase that's perfectly safe for adults, but would be extremely dangerous for a little kid to play on. One of the first hard and fast rules they set for Celine upon finding out about the spell is that she cannot, under any circumstances, go up or down those stairs without one of them or Bobby present.

Celine is a good listener, for the most part, but every kid is going to make mistakes sometimes. So, when she's absentmindedly wandering the penthouse, she starts climbing up those stairs. As soon as they see her, Rumi rushes over, grabs Celine and brings her back down.

"What the hell happened?" She asks, "I thought we told you not to go up those stairs without one of us with you?"

Mira and Zoey watch from the other side of the room. Celine just stares at the ground, hands twisting together behind her back (she knows she'll get in trouble if they see her fidgeting). She opens her mouth to try and explain herself, but as usual no sound comes out.

"Can you look at me when I'm talking to you?" She asks, in a tone that makes Mira and Zoey cringe, "are you even listening to me--" she reaches over to tilt Celine's head up, and Celine flinches in a way that makes Mira's stomach drop. Her head turns to the side and tucks towards her chest, her arms fly up and out over her head to protect herself, her knees buckle and her breath hitches. If you've ever been hit as a kid, you know the pose, and it's a posture Mira is intimately familiar with.

"Nope!" She snaps from the other side of the room, rushing over and dragging Rumi away into the kitchen, while Zoey makes her way over to scoop Celine off the floor.

"What?" Rumi looks up at her, confused and frustrated.

"Rumi..." Mira grips her shoulders, "you absolutely cannot do that."

"Do what?" Rumi looks genuinely bewildered, like she has no idea what just happened, "I just needed to make sure she was listening and she... I don't actually know what she was doing? Why did she fall over like that?"

Mira freezes, "you really don't know?"

"No?" Rumi shakes her head.

"Oh boy," Mira mumbles. Her eyes stay wide, but her overall expression shifts from scared and angry to just plain sad, "she thought you were going to hit her."

"What?" Rumi's mouth goes dry and her eyes well up with tears, "but I--I didn't--I wouldn't--"

"I know," Mira pulls her into a hug, "I know you wouldn't hit her, but that doesn't change the fact that somebody did, and now she's hardwired to protect herself when an angry grownup makes a sudden movement like that."

Zoey steps into the room, "I think I got her calmed down, but you should probably still come talk to her."

Rumi nods, and goes to sit on the couch by Celine, where Zoey has her set up with a coloring book and some markers. Her movements are careful, tracing the outline of every shape before carefully filling it in in broad strokes, like she's afraid to leave any white spaces or color outside the lines (she doesn't want to get in trouble for wasting paper).

"Hey," Rumi says, crouching down beside her.

Celine doesn't respond verbally, but she pauses what she's doing and that's enough for Rumi to know she can hear her (she's going to get in trouble again. She's supposed to look at grownups when they talk to her. She's supposed to speak when spoken to but she just can't and now Ms. Rumi is going to--)

"I'm sorry," Rumi whispers, "I promise I am never, ever going to hit you. Ever."

Tears drip onto the paper below Celine, mixing with the ink and making colorful smudges (she's going to be in trouble for getting the paper wet).

"I'm gonna try not to yell either," Rumi continues, "I never want you to feel like I'm gonna hurt you. Grownups hurting kids is never okay, and as long as you're here you'll never have to go through that again."

Celine still doesn't look up. She wordlessly slides the box of markers to rest between them and goes back to carefully filling in the shapes.

"You want me to color with you?" Rumi confirms, grabbing a blue marker once she sees Celine nod, and coloring in the tiger on the page.

Celine gasps, having picked the most sensible choices she could for everything else on the page-- green grass, brown tree trunks, red flowers, and a yellow snake hidden among the vines (she's not sure what color snakes normally are. She's going to be in trouble for getting it wrong).

"What?" Rumi chuckles, "who said tigers can't be blue?"

This isn't my best work by any means but oooooough I hope it conveys a fun dynamic here :)))

Hello @theamphibianmen !!!

Your writing is so good!!!! I know you said this isn’t your best work but I really liked how you wrote everyone and how you depicted the situation the girls find themselves in. To that end, I hope you don’t mind me adding in my own scene down below.

Celine pulled her stuffed cat close to her body as lightning slammed against the tower once more. She was supposed to be asleep, a good child slept through storms and didn’t get scared or want someone to hold her or—

BOOM!

Celine yelped and covered herself with her blanket. Fear was fighting against fear in her brain and the constant noises of the storm was only making her want more and more to escape her room and find shelter elsewhere.

A second large clap of thunder sent her bolting from her bed—cat still held tightly in her hands—and straight to the hallway. She scanned the hallway for a moment to try and figure out where she was supposed to go. Zoey always said her door was always open and, honestly, Celine really wanted to fall asleep in her pile of stuffed animals that she showed her.

She was just struggling to remember which door was Zoey’s.

Slowly, Celine walked down the hallway, peering at the doors to try and remember where exactly she was supposed to go. Finally, she came to one door and her eyes narrowed. This door felt familiar. She felt like she’d been here before. Celine hoisted herself onto her tip toes and opened the door, slipping inside and rushing towards the bed with the sleeping hunter in it.

Only it wasn’t Zoey.

“Celine?”

It was Rumi. Ms. Rumi.

Celine’s eyes fell to the floor.

“Hey. What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?” Rumi asked, leaving her bed to kneel down beside Celine, “Did something happen to your cat?”

Celine didn’t respond.

She didn’t have to.

Another clap of thunder caused her to let out a yelp and bury her face in her stuffed cat. Realization fell over Rumi’s face.

“Oh. The storm, huh? Well, let’s see what we can do about that. Do you want to go get some milk and try to go back to bed?” Rumi asked.

Celine opened her mouth. No words came from her at first but she forced herself to say at least for, “….don’t wanna be alone.”

“I think we can arrange that. How about some chocolate milk and a movie and then we’ll see how you’re feeling then? Does that sound okay?” Celine still refused eye contact with the half demon and Rumi had no intention of pushing her. Not after what happened that morning. She waited. She waited 5 minutes for Celine to finally hold up a hand—a silent confirmation that she wanted to follow Rumi.

Rumi took Celine from her bedroom into the kitchen, pouring her a cup of milk and placing a straw inside. On her first day, Zoey had given Celine some chocolate milk—under the hope it would cause her to grow more comfortable—and Celine slipped some and cried. Ever since then, straws had been their go to when getting drinks.

“You know, when I was little, I was terrified of storms.” Celine didn’t reply but Rumi could feel her eyes on her, “My….caregiver would sometimes leave during them and I was always so scared that the storms would hurt her somehow. One night, I went to her in tears saying she couldn’t leave because there was a massive thunder and lightning storm coming and she needed to stay home. She pulled me onto her lap and told me a story. Do you want to hear it?”

Celine nodded in her chair. It was the polite thing to do.

“She told me about a mythical hunter who loved the rain more than any hunter who had ever come before her. She would dance and play in the rain like a fish in water. One day, she was out fighting with her fellow hunters and they happened upon a village in need of help. The three hunters fought strongly and they drove back the demons and saved the village, but, in the battle, that mythical hunter was lost.” Celine’s eyes grew, “Her fellow hunters continued on without her but during their next battle, the skies began to darken. They were sure it was more demons come to attack, but, instead, the sky boomed with light and sound. The lightning gave them sight to see the demons and the booms scared the demons away with their noise.”

“….the hunter sent the storms?” Celine whispered.

“She did.” Rumi nodded, internally celebrating her ability to get Celine to speak, “My caregiver said that storms are a hunters way of protecting one another and keeping each other safe. This storm is the hunters of the past protecting us and you from any demons. I know it’s loud and scary but the hunters up there are pretty old. They need it to be loud or they wouldn’t be able to hear it.” Celine giggled for half a second before slamming her hands over her mouth.

“Come on.” Rumi scooped Celine into her arms and took her towards the tv, “Let’s get a movie going and see if you got any sleep left in you.”

[yueko]

[circlusion]

The world has irrevocably changed 😃

[whatthefuckjeeves]

The person who told the cops about her abortion was her boyfriend btw. For your safety, do not sleep with or date men who would not defend your rights. There is no "we don't talk politics" or "we just agree to disagree" when his disagreement is your loss of freedom. Stop dating men who would turn you in for a nickel if you hurt their feelings.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

When she showed up at the police station, they thought she was coming to "explain herself." She was coming to report the boyfriend who'd reported her held a gun to her head for taking the pills.

Fuck Flock cameras. Fuck police who do this shit. Fuck the survelliance state.

[bongjoonhoe]

I Love Boosters (2026) dir. Boots Riley