#princington

[frozenprocedural]

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP.

Thank you once again to the amazing @princington for this commission and continuing the wonder that is the Bean Salad AU!

Two wives means double the belly holds. And a Beanling to help.

[kayr0ss]

unnie.xlsx

[kpdh, rumira, i screamed at @princington over a vision, and then they made art, and then i crashed out & made words, now here we are, thank you prince full credit to them for the amazing art!]

--

Mira, flustered and defeated by the evils of a complicated spreadsheet, chews on her lip and stands by Rumi's cracked doorway.

She'd hardly call herself shy—but Rumi looks busy, wearing a pair of gardening gloves and an old tank top, her hair up in a loose ponytail. She's moving her plants all over the place again: rotating which ones go out to the balcony and which ones stay indoors, and all the while she looks happy and so, so pretty.

But the spreadsheets. Mira awkwardly leans against the doorway, rubbing at her arm before softly calling:

"Unnie?"

Rumi turns mid-step, a houseplant nestled in her arms. "Yes?"

She feels silly but she powers through.

"Can I—" Actually, nevermind. "Sorry, you were in the middle of something—"

But then the plant's already on the floor, and Rumi's gloves have been peeled off, and Rumi honest to god teleports right in front of her—smiling fondly as she insists: "No, no. I'm here, whatever you need."

Mira wants to laugh, but instead she smiles all soft and tender and red in the cheeks because just like that, everything's better already.

'Whatever you need.'

What a feeling. What wonderful ache it is that blooms around her chest—like her flowers out in the balcony—knowing that Rumi means every bit of it and more.

[patternedclouds]

Time will do the talking, years will do the walking I'll just find a comfy spot and I'll wait it out Yes, your time will do the talking, years will do the walking Time will tell you, baby, what you can't hear now

club escapade scene from chapter 3 of love can't make you strong (until love can make you weak) , co-written by @barrhorn and me. If you like the idea of an AU where married singer/songwriter duo zoerumi have their eyes set on supermodel mira (with some plot creeping into the mix), do come by :)

sketch by the inimitable @princington!!!!!! thank you so much for accommodating my requests!!! please check out their incredible art if you don't already know it

also special thanks to @s-aint-elmo for graciously fielding my barrage of questions about fashion and how to make suspenders look good. check out their incredible art too. owe you both my life

[americanhoney913]

“Look at the bar,” Mira whispers in Rumi’s ear. “At the corner closest to us.”

“Y-y-y-yeah?” She turns her head in the direction Mira’s talking about. It’s Zoey. She’s dressed in the same outfit she wore so long ago, when the demons destroyed their plane. It’s a halter top with flowers blooming across the front, shows off her abs, and the almost parachute pants in blue and yellow. She’s got one leg crossed over the other, a cocktail glass in her hand, leaning back against the bar. Rumi’s face flushes red, patterns flashing gold in rapid pace to the beat of her heart, when she realizes Zoey’s staring right at her. Their eyes lock as Mira whispers dirty things into her ear, teasing the shell with her teeth and tongue.

Mira’s lips move to hover over her ear as she leans in like she’s sharing a secret. “She’s been watching you this whole time.” Zoey just smirks at her. That sly smirk that makes her knees week. Zoey's not dating them but the three of them like to have a little fun on tours when they're all high on adrenaline and the rush of a great performance.

Thank you, once again, to @princington for fulfilling another commission. It came out amazing! From my fic Under the Lights.

[razzberrydazz]

"What's that look for, Mira? Zoey got this shirt for me."

Celine props her hands on her hips after tucking her sunglasses into the pocket of the tackiest button-up shirt Mira has ever had the misfortune of witnessing.

It is a bright pink shirt decorated with sharks and cats wearing crowns. Underneath the tacky button-up, Celine paired it with a rust-red tank top, dusty green cargo shorts, and — socks with sandals? At the BEACH?! HEINOUS!!!

Mira scoffs as she places her hand over her heart in mock offense. "That's the problem, it's hideous!"

Zoey giggles at them in the distance.

[Got a sketch commission from the wonderful @princington and colored it to coincide with a lil drabble fic I wrote! Thank you so much for the commission Princington! <3]

[ace-bug-trainer-cj]

Based on this post👇by @princington

💬 20  🔁 71  ❤️ 373 · All these folks manifesting baby bean au-au "Zoey in a Celine situation bc rumira dies", I raise you "Zoey in a Celine

My take on the reunion between lost Rumira and their baby girl, now a teen.

The roll of thunder outside rattled against the windows as Ha-young curled up on the couch, soft music drifting in from the kitchen where her aunt was doing dishes. She always liked rain, the patter of it against glass and leaves. The smell was her favorite part, petrichor, Aunt Zoey had taught her.

The door bell rang out, sweet bells mixing with the pretty sound of rainfall. Ha-young popped up, moving to the door.

"Aunt Zo, the pizza is.." she called out, trailing off as two women stood before her, familiar in a way she wasn't sure was real "..here."

"H-hey." The striped woman spoke softly, hand tight to her chest.

Ha-young took them in, every detail she could barely recall outside of photographs and videos of her childhood. The wavy purple hair they shared, though hers grew into a bit of a dusty rose hue now. The taller woman with the sharp features, the nose and eyes that matched hers perfectly. So clearly the molds that she came from that her heart throbbed against her ribcage.

"Appa?" She barely whispered out. "Eomma?"

Her appa ran forward, taking her in strong arms that bore the same markings she had. She clung tight to her shirt, burying her face in damp hair. The second they touched, a soft lavender glow emitted from them both. Patterns ignited in pulsing, gentle light off their matching pale skin. She felt a choked laugh leave her appa as she squeezed her tighter, hand coming to nestle the back of her head gently.

"My sweet girl..oh my baby, how big you've grown." Rumi sobbed out.

"Let me see you my darling." Her eomma cupped her cheeks, turning her face to rub warm thumbs over her tears.

Ha-young nuzzled into the touch, smiling so big that her small fangs were poking out. Mira turned her face side to side gently, placing a tender kiss to her forehead.

"Look at these beautiful patterns." Mira whispered reverently. "I can't believe what a beautiful girl you've grown into."

"Eomma." She cried out again, throwing herself against her mother's chest. Slender arms held her secure, allowing hands to tangle into her hair to scratch her head. "Y-you're both here.. you're really home."

"Yes baby girl we're here." Her appa hugged behind her, enveloping her between her parents.

"Our little bean." Mira chuckled through tears, patting Ha-young's head. "Although maybe beanstalk is more fitting now, you're almost as tall as your appa."

"She gets that from you." Rumi kissed the back of her head between them.

"BB do you need help with the-" Zoey dropped the plastic bowl she was drying to the floor.

She felt her mothers turn above her, heavy sighs escaping them. They parted from her, rushing to crash into her aunt with the force of hurricane winds. They collapsed to the ground together, cracking cries heaving out of Aunt Zo. She gripped both of them tightly.

"I didn't know if I'd ever see you guys again." Her voice broke. "Y-you're alive.. you're here!"

"We missed you too Zo." Mira kissed her head and cradled her close between them.

Ha-young giggled watching them, gently closing the door behind her. She walked over slowly, unsure if she could interrupt the moment. Her appa reached for her, pulling her into her storm soaked lap. Her whole family, now entangled together, sharing warmth and rainwater on the living room floor.

"H-how are you here?" Zoey pulled back, touching Rumi's face.

"It's a long story." She answered, shaking her wet purple curls.

"For another day, we have 9 years of our daughter I want to catch up on." Mira caressed a pattern along Ha-young's cheek.

"Aunt Zo has so many scrapbooks." She giggled, holding her eomma's hand to her. "I can show you so much stuff."

"Show us everything we've missed Ha-young." Rumi hummed sweetly. "Don't skip a single detail, we want it all."

The door bell bellowed out once again.

"Sounds like pizza is actually here now." Zoey laughed wetly, tears staining her freckled cheeks. "I'll get it."

Zoey separated, wiping her eyes on her cardigan sleeve. Ha-young snuggled against her appa, relishing the embrace she hadn't felt since she was a child. She inhaled the earthy, almost herbal scent of her patterned mother. Her eomma scooched closer, rubbing her back in soothing circles.

"I missed you both so much." Ha-young beamed. "I was afraid you were gone."

"You will never be without us again my love." Mira brushed her cheek again. "Never."

"I'm really happy." She giggled, unable to stay still in their arms.

"BB can you grab the photo albums while I set up food?" Zoey walked past them to the kitchen, pizza box in hand.

"Yes auntie!" She sprang up, running down the hallway with a playfulness that Mira and Rumi were nearly in tears seeing again.

They held hands as they stood together, watching their daughter bound away. Rumi pressed her forehead to Mira's, kissing her sloped nose sweetly.

"We're home Mir." Rumi exhaled shakily. "We're actually home."

"I know." She grinned. "Our little girl."

They padded into the kitchen, helping Zoey set the table and plate food. Tea was being brewed and cookies baked in the oven. Zoey hugged them both once more.

"I'm so happy you're home." Zoey choked out. "I tried so hard to live up to you both for her, but I know she's so excited to have you again."

"Zoey, you kept our daughter cared for and loved for almost 2 decades, even before we got lost." Mira held her close. "You are just as much her mother as we are."

"Mir." Zoey whimpered, eyes flooding again.

Ha-young bounced into the kitchen, a heaping pile of albums in her arms. She carefully dropped them on the kitchen counter, running to nestle into Zoey's side.

"Aunt Zo we have to call halmeoni and tell her!" She jumped under Zoey's arm.

"Yes yes absolutely. I will call her first thing tomorrow. Let's settle in tonight yeah bean?"

"Okay." She grinned. "Can you show them the videos you took of my track meets and stuff?"

"After dinner love." Zoey laughed, squeezing Ha-young close to her. "We'll show them my whole camera roll, all the albums, everything I have of you sweet girl."

Ha-young clapped and hopped, squealing as she slammed back into Rumi's arms. Her appa coughed out as her air was punched out of her from the force of the hug. She squeezed her daughter tight, inhaling deep the sweet, fruity perfume Ha-young liked to wear.

"Appa will you sit next to me?" She looked up, her eyes so identical to Mira's that Rumi simply melted into her.

"Of course bean." She brushed mauve locks of hair framing her daughter's face back behind her ear.

"I thought eomma said I'm beanstalk now?" She giggled.

"That's right cause you're so tall now!" Rumi scooped her up, spinning them around the kitchen as Ha-young broke into giddy laughter. "You'll be as tall as your eomma when you're all grown up I'm sure."

Mira sat at the table, her eyes soft and adoring. Zoey pressed a warm mug into her hands, sitting next to her.

"She spun her like that when she was a baby all the time." Zoey leaned her head on Mira's shoulder. "They haven't changed at all."

"There was a time I said I would do anything to see this again." Mira muttered quietly, pain inching into her voice. "I would do anything now to keep this till I die."

"You're home Mir." Zoey rubbed her arm. "You're both home and safe with your daughter now."

"I can't believe we missed so much." Her low voice cracked.

"I documented everything I could." Zoey assured. "Every milestone."

"But I missed the small things." Mira chewed her lip red. "When she found her favorite book...her first crush..so many things a camera couldn't capture. How many times has she been afraid and I haven't been here to hold her? When did she first try her favorite foods?"

Zoey tenderly reached for a plate of pizza, setting it down in front of Mira.

"Bulogi and green peppers?" Mira quirked her brow, staring down at something she hadn't eaten in years.

"It's Ha-young's favorite too." Zoey smiled warmly, her hand resting over Mira's.

Mira huffed out a laugh, wiping her eyes. She picked up the slice, taking a bite that melted her into warm memories of their time as Huntrix. All together, eating pizza after a concert on their couch.

"She got your spice tolerance too." Zoey chuckled. "The girl puts more red pepper flakes on a slice than you did."

"That's impressive." Mira wiped her eyes again, shoving the cracked golden frames up on her forehead.

"You look overdue for an updated prescription." Zoey teased, plucking the glasses off her head.

"That's for sure." Mira leaned back, rubbing her face fully with both hands. "And some fresh clothes."

"Eomma can I have them?"

"Hmm?" Mira looked over at Ha-young perched in her appa's arms.

"Your glasses. When you get new ones, can I have those?" She pointed.

"Sure love, but why?" Mira smirked.

"I want to match." She hopped down, grabbing a small pink photo album. "Like you always wore."

She pointed at a picture of Mira holding Ha-young as a baby, golden frames still clean and unmarred by the demon realm.

"I want to look all elegant and sophisticated like you do." Ha-young beamed.

"Nerdy you mean." Rumi interjected.

Ha-young glared and tackled Rumi again, though easily overpowered by her half demon mother, who spun her around and squeezed her tight from behind in a bear hug.

"Damn, still an eomma's girl even after all this time." Rumi scoffed playfully. "I can't compete."

"Hey I carried her for 9 months I deserve extra points." Mira chuckled softly.

"Eomma I think you look beautiful in your glasses, don't let appa bully you." Ha-young squirmed out of Rumi's hug.

"Woah now I never said your eomma wasn't the most beautiful, stunning, gorgeous woman in the world." Rumi strut over, bending down to give Mira an over the top, deep kiss on the mouth, dipping her back in her chair slightly. "Because to say otherwise would be an outright lie."

"Appaaa." Ha-young groaned, coming to hug her waist and pull her upright. "Can we eat dinner now? I'm hungry."

"Of course of course. Go ahead, beanstalk." Rumi ruffled her head, mussing up her ponytail slightly.

They all sat and melted into idle conversations, Ha-young talking all about school and her friends. Mira and Rumi sat, listening intently to every story, every word. Mira committed every smile, every crinkle of her daughters eyes to memory. She watched Ha-young pile chili flakes on her pizza, happily eating in between her stories. She grinned as her daughter rocked side to side, matching Rumi at the table. However much their little girl looked like Mira, she was definitely Rumi's daughter.

This was everything she ever wanted in a family. She was determined to give her daughter the life she deserved.

(This may end up being a full fic on AO3 eventually, but I have too many ongoing projects to start this one right now.)

[didouille]

@princington x @didouille Collab

Super fun collab I got to do with prince ! they sketched mir and zo, and i did rumi and the rendering !!!

Really love how it turned out 😈😈😈

[ghostgrlonfirst]

echoes of the past (2,004 words | rumira)

a/n: based on this incredible art by @princington. also available on ao3.

Her body feels like it’s full of bees, buzzing through her chest and under her skin. She wants to scream, wants to kick something, wants to run.

So she does.

Out the front door. Down the street. One, two, three blocks away. As far as her legs will take her. 

She knows this will only make things worse; that she’ll have to face the fury of her eomeoni when she comes back – they don’t even bother coming to find her anymore, haven’t for a while. But right now she doesn’t care. Being in the house was suffocating, she couldn’t handle it anymore, her body – full of rage and confusion and sadness – couldn’t handle it anymore. She couldn’t walk up to her room for the second time this week and sit there in silence wondering why it’s like this; why she’s like this. Not today. Not again.

She didn’t understand what she had done wrong this time. She wasn’t sure she understood what she had done wrong any other time either, but she’s sure it’s because she did something bad. That she must’ve been bad.

‘Stop being so insolent Mira’

‘You’re disrespecting your abeoji, Mira’

‘You’re a disgrace to the family, Mira’

‘Stop talking Mira, you’re giving your eomeoni a headache’

‘You can only get a hug if you behave, Mira’

‘Crying at the table is not proper behaviour and will not be tolerated. Go to your room, Mira’

She’d gone more than one night without dinner this month for not being strong enough to keep the tears down, but sometimes she couldn’t stop them. She couldn’t understand what she had done wrong, why it was always her and not Min-jun. Why she couldn’t just be better. 

She just wants to be better.

She wants her abeoji to say he’s proud of her. She wants her eomeoni to say she loves her. She wants to be good like Min-jun. She wants to be more like him. She wants to be loved like him.

Why can’t she just be more like him?

Her feet carry her to a little shop, one she finds herself at more often than not when she can’t stand being home, as if her body knows she’ll be safe here. There’s a little spot around the back of the building, under an awning, next to an open window that carries the soft sounds of the radio from inside. Sometimes a small orange cat is there, like he knows that she needs company. Maybe, she thinks, he needs company too.

Today, however, there’s a girl; purple hair pulled back in a braid, dressed in a dark green outfit. She’s probably around her age, 7 or 8.

Mira stands there for a moment longer, taking the other girl in. She looks tired, knees pulled up to her chest, head tucked between her arms.

She wants to ask her to leave, tell her that she’s not allowed to be here, that she found this place first. Her body is still buzzing, anger and sadness moving through her like tidal waves.

As she opens her mouth she hears a sniffle. Small and soft but unmistakable, and something in her softens.

She moves closer and crouches in front of the other girl.

“You’re in my hiding spot,” she says as softly as she can manage. She’s had years of practice, years of being told how to tone herself down, how to not sound angry or too loud, and for the first time she hopes she’s able to properly speak with the softness that’s always expected of her. 

The other girl startles before she lets out a quiet ‘what?’. She looks at Mira, eyes full of unshed tears, nose a little red from crying, trying her best to look brave as she wipes at her eyes. “Can’t you share?”

Mira freezes. 

No one has ever asked her to share. No one has ever wanted to share with her. Everyone her age has always seemed to be put off by her, scared of her, not wanting to spend more time around her than strictly necessary. Not even her brother.

This is new. A little scary, but she tries to be brave.

“Yeah, we can share,” she says before sitting next to her.

The other girl gives her a small smile, moving closer to her so their shoulders are touching.

“Thank you.”

—

It’s just one of those days, she tells herself. Just one of those days where everything goes wrong – she started the day by putting salt instead of sugar in her coffee, her socks kept slipping down her ankles inside her sneakers, the tag on her shirt was making her skin itch uncomfortably, and she just couldn’t get this section of the choreo right.

“Again,” she barks rewiding the track, Rumi and Zoey getting into position behind her.

5, 6, 7, 8…

She feels herself move, as if her body has known the steps for longer than her brain has, the rhythm flowing through her in a way that seems innate, natural, right.

A step to the left. Arms out in front. A hip roll. A spin.

“Fuck!”

It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. She got it wrong again. She messed up again. Why can’t she just get this fucking right? Just once?

She choreographed this, she knows how to do this, so why is her body betraying her? Why is she-

“Maybe we need to take a break.” 

Her head whips around to Rumi, who is standing with her arms crossed over her chest, a look on her face that says this isn’t up for debate.

But of course, it’s not that simple. It’s never that simple. She can’t just let Rumi tell her what to do without fighting back, especially when she’s the one that’s messing up, she’s the one that needs this. If Rumi and Zoey don’t want to keep practicing and take a break, they can; she makes sure to tell them that.

“It’s not us who need a break, Mira, it’s you.”

“No. What I need is to get this right,” she seethes back. 

That familiar buzz pulls at her again, the one that’s been building – slowly but surely – all morning. She can feel it spread through her body, uncomfortable and suffocating, as it intensifies under Rumi’s gaze.

“I’m running this again, whether the two of you join me or not I don’t particularly care.”

Rumi doesn’t fight back, just stands by the mirror looking at Mira, face unreadable. Zoey on the other hand is sitting by the far wall, eyes focused on her lap as she fidgets with one of the stickers on her water bottle.

Guilt tries to take over momentarily, but the incessant anger flowing through her like molten lava doesn’t let it stay for long, overpowering and all-consuming. 

She runs the choreo again and again, getting it wrong each time on the same step, the same fucking spin.

By the fifth attempt – the fifth failed attempt – she slams her palm against the wall and lets out a scream so feral and unrestrained it makes Zoey jump up from where she’s sitting, eyes wide, hand shaking at her side.

“That’s it. You’re done,” comes Rumi’s firm voice from behind her. “You’re taking a break and you’re not coming back until you’ve calmed down.”

“N-”

“Don’t, Mira. Don’t you dare fight me on this, not right now.” Rumi’s voice leaves no room for discussion. Eyes hard, but not cold – never cold – in a way only she could pull off as their leader. “You need to step away from this room. I don’t care if you go out there and keep practicing, but you’re going to leave and come back when you’ve cooled off. Understood?”

Mira takes a deep breath through her nose, face still taut with anger, hands shaking uncontrollably as if that buzzing – that fucking buzzing – was taking over over limbs instead of keeping itself restrained to her chest and the awful feeling underneath her skin. She looks over at Zoey again, her head is down as she holds herself in an attempt to not let the other two see how much her body is shaking.

She lets out the breath she doesn’t realize she’s been holding and closes her eyes for a moment.

“I’m sorry.” She looks over to Rumi once again, regret crawling up her throat as she opens and closes her mouth again and again to say something – anything – before making a run for the door instead.

Why is it always like this?

Why can’t I get this right?

Why can’t I keep this anger down?

Why can’t I be better?

She runs as far as her exhausted body will take her, down a set of stairs and onto a small balcony in the Sunlight Entertainment building, and she crumbles; knees giving out on her the moment she takes a lungful of fresh air.

Her brain automatically goes through the exercises she’s learned in therapy, naming four things she can see, three things she can smell, two things she can see, one thing she can touch. She takes deep breaths, holding it in for five seconds, and exhaling slowly for another five. 

Therapy had helped her understand that all that anger inside her was not her fault. Everything that went on in that house was not because of her, not because she failed some test she didn’t even know she was taking. She’s learned to understand her anger, her shortcomings, and her strengths, but sometimes it still gets the best of her even when she doesn’t want it to.

Especially around them. Around Rumi and Zoey. The only two people that have ever made an effort with her, who have accepted her for who she is, temper and all, even when she lashes out. She’s still not sure this is going to work, that their debut will be successful, that they’ll want to keep her around, but she wants to try.

She wants to try for them.

She wants to try for herself.

She wants to do what makes her happy for once and not just what’s expected of her.

Her thoughts drift back to that one day, as they often do when she feels the need to run and hide. To the girl with the purple braid sitting behind the store. 

Mira wonders if Rumi remembers, if Rumi knows how she crossed her mind every time she ran away from home, every time she made it to that hiding spot. She wonders if Rumi even knows that it was Mira all those years ago. She never asked, too afraid to find out that the leader had forgotten, that somehow it isn’t a memory Rumi holds close to her heart the way Mira does.

She pushes those feelings down, tears building at her growing embarrassment for even thinking that; for hoping that somehow that had meant as much to Rumi as it did to her; for thinking of Rumi for so many years after that day, hoping that the girl with the braid was okay, that she was happy, that she wouldn’t find the need to run away again.

“You’re in my hiding spot.”

The words catch her by surprise, she hadn’t heard anyone approaching and she chastises herself for it.

Then it clicks. 

You’re in my hiding spot.

Something flutters in her chest, affection, joy, or anxiety maybe, she’s not entirely sure. Her and Rumi aren’t very close, they clash on the best of days, two personalities that threaten to disturb the fault lines, but the acknowledgement of what they shared years ago underneath that awning makes her breathe a little easier. She feels safer somehow, like she belongs, like someone cares.

“What? Can’t you share?” she asks, voice small and hoarse from all her frustrated yelling earlier. 

Rumi gives her a small smile, moving to settle next to Mira, shoulders brushing.

Maybe they can make this work. Maybe this is where she’s meant to be. 

Maybe she doesn’t need to be better.